


gold and silver line my heart

by lipglossed



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Cabaret, Angst, Falling In Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, femme fatale yuuri? yeah, i love him so much so i dressed him in so many pretty dresses, just a little but also no, yuuri's a cabaret singer can u believe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipglossed/pseuds/lipglossed
Summary: “You’re golden.”That’s what Victor had said, low and sweet, camouflaged by the night where no one but Yuuri could hear him. It was one of only a handful of sincere things Victor had told him. It was the last thing he had the chance to tell him before leaving.It was a blip in his existence, but it changed Yuuri forever.





	1. blue velvet

_SPRING 1963_

A busy night at _The Red Room_ always eluded him. __

_ _Yuuri never quite knew what was happening around him. It took a great deal of discipline to find himself and walk from the edge of nothingness back to reality. _ _

_ _He stood behind the red curtain and smoothed out the velvet dress he purchased the night before. It fit perfectly-- accentuating all the right places, his bottom being the center of attention. From his place, he could hear Celestino warming up the crowd. _ _

_ _Yuuri snorted and placed his drink --a strawberry champagne spritzer-- down on a table backstage. It was his signature drink and promoted as such by the club, with each glass accompanied by a napkin stamped with his signature. He thought about what that really meant-- if it meant anything at all. _ _

_ _Yuuri thought too much. _ _

_ _“--Baby!” _ _

_ _It was like a switch had flipped, turning him from a dime a dozen pianist to a world-class singer. He stepped out onto the stage and waved hello to the audience like a pageant queen. They clapped for him the way a proper audience would. Taking five gentle steps to the center, he signaled his piano player to begin, with a nod. _ _

_ _“Well, hello, ladies and gentlemen,” he practically whispered into his mic once the crowd began to settle. “How is everybody?” _ _

_ _The crowd gave a cheer. _ _

_ _All it took was a dress. A slip from his formal suit and jacket, worn previously in the night, into something dazzling. Something golden or red or black compliment his olive complexion. Something beautiful. Then, a swipe of rouge here and there. Lipstick on the mouth, delicately placed on his cupid's bow and rubbed onto the rest. And sometimes a corset, though he barely needed one. Yuuri had always been slimmer, with a girlish figure. But dressed up, no girl could do what he did. Though plenty had tried. _ _

_ _No one compared to his tipsy elegance and grandeur. The fluttering of his eyes as he sang to the patrons before him. _ _

_ _“I sure am glad you’re all having a good time,” he said, voice as clean and primed as silver. “I’ve got something very special planned for tonight, as I always do for Friday crowds.” He cleared his throat and looked over the room, trying to make out faces against the harsh overhead light. _ _

_ _Everyone he could see was dressed in expensive materials and showered in precious metals. He could see them, and they could see him, but they could not see each other. Not unless they tried. _ _

_ _Money sat enticed, with legs crossed, before him. Wine and bourbon swishing in glasses like tiny oceans. His night would be wonderful if he played his cards right. “But before we begin, I’d like to, firstly, encourage you all to tip your waiters and waitresses. They’re lovely people here to provide you with only the best service in the city and deserve to be compensated as such. C’mon now,” he joked. “Don’t be greedy.” More laughter. _ _

_ _Sometimes he wondered what they were laughing at. _ _

_ _Yuuri went on, fluffing them up for the performance to come. The crowd cheered. Yuuri smiled, flaunting his pearly white teeth to the best of his mouth's ability._ _

_ _Yuuri had little confidence in his other affairs, but performance and attraction were two things he knew he had mastered. Even if he played late into the night, he played a packed house nearly every single one. The regular girls had the evening shows and that was well and good, but he had a large and ever-changing crowd that would come and watch his midnight performances. He saw thousands of faces pass through every year, even if it was only in the shadows._ _

_ _The music picked up and he began his first song-- an old tune from years ago, rarely performed anymore. _ _

_ _He was a god sent apparition on stage. Ever strut. Every glance. Every hand that roamed delicately over his body. It was captivating to see him enjoy himself on stage. That emotion translated into everything he did. He might not have been the best singer in the city, but he had a presence-- something rare in show business. People begged for autographs, encores, and private dinners. Mostly by the prestigious members of contemporary society-- the artists, aristocrats, and lovers he enticed. _ _

_ _The people loved him-- men, women, and everything outside and in between. They treated him like something from another world. An angel. A muse. For five hours every couple of days, Yuuri was something more. _ _

_ _Who cared if he was a mediocre pianist for the other girls? Who cared that he didn’t perform during the “respectable” hours their club was open? Who cared if his art was dying at the hands of innovation? He was a star. _ _

_ _To him, in his lonely life, that was all that mattered. _ _

_ _The song ended and somehow he had ended up on the lap of a man dining at a table near the stage, his wife sitting beside him. He held his head to his chest and kissed the top of his head goodbye. On his way back to the main stage, he held hands with and blew kisses to whoever wanted. There was enough of him and his love to go around. All they had to do was ask. _ _

_ _It was an hour-long show, but it always seemed to go so quickly for Yuuri. He only had two songs left in his set, both quite short and dreamy. They were wonderful send-offs into the night, as most of his audience would return to their hotel rooms in the same building the club was located. _ _

_ _Yuuri sang, motioning to the crowd as he raised his arms. He peered out longingly, slightly tired and pained by the heels on his feet. _ _

_ _Off in the distance, a cloud of smoke coming from a cigarette caught his attention. It was heavier than the rest and nestled at the back of the bar, where a single figure sat looking back at him with a sharp stare. The cigarette embers became a blinker-- signaling for him to look on— eyes locked. _ _

_ _Silver hair flashed under the dim lights. Broad shoulders looked like they held the entire world. Lips parted to take a drag every now and then. The scene clashed so brilliantly with the red and decor of the room. He was somehow part of and separate from everything. It was a painting in motion. The kind that made you stir. _ _

_ _Yuuri couldn’t look away. _ _

_ _Yuuri knew the man. He swore he did. There was something so incredibly familiar about him-- something he couldn’t figure out. _ _

_ _He kept his gaze on him until the end of his show. He had to break it for a moment, to do his goodbyes to the audience and to thank the night staff and pianist. _ _

_ _“Let’s give him a round of applause ladies and gentlemen,” Yuuri said applauding his friend. “The show wouldn’t be possible without him and his beautiful music.” Phichit stood, waved, and bowed, before clapping for Yuuri as well. They held hands and took a final bow. Yuuri walked backstage first, toward the dressing rooms. Phichit followed him soon after._ _

_ _Phichit wiped at Yuuri’s smearing makeup and sweat, jokingly telling him he looked like a mess. Yuuri laughed and said, “Speak for yourself!” as he dabbed away some of the sweat on his face with a handkerchief from his cleavage. “Those lights are _unforgivingly_ hot.”_ _

_ _“We should complain to management,” Phichit suggested. _ _

_ _“Pfft. Like they’d listen. We’d be out on the street the very moment we opened our mouths.” _ _

_ _Phichit laughed, “Oh please, Yuuri. You’re the star here. You have _some_ authority. They’d have to listen.” _ _

_ _“Or,” Yuuri voiced. “They’d have another dime a dozen singer here in the time it’d take ‘em to give me my last check.” _ _

_ _Phichit stopped walking and looked at him like for a moment, “Yuuri, you’re not just a singer-- you’re the soul of this place.” _ _

_ _“Yeah, right. Those bastards just see me as a man in a dress,” Yuuri told him. “I’m flattered, but I think you’re giving me too much credit.” _ _

_ _ They joked all the way to their dressing rooms, where they split and went on to change. _ _

_ _Yuuri hung his dress and donned a pair of worn slacks and off white shirt. His heels were exchanged for worn shoes and face wiped of all and any makeup. However glamorous his life seemed on stage, in reality, Yuuri was beyond average. There was no sparkle in his eyes after he put away his eyelashes and jewelry. _ _

_ _Phichit met him outside of his door, dressed similarly. _ _

_ _“Ready to go home?” he asked. _ _

_ _Yuuri almost said yes, but thought back to the stranger he had seen at the bar. His instincts told him to go and check for him-- to pursue the curiosity stirring in his stomach. _ _

_ _“Actually, I think I forgot-- um-- a ring backstage. Why don’t you meet me out in front of the hotel? I won’t be long.” _ _

_ _Phichit nodded and turned to leave. _ _

_ _He waited until he couldn’t see him anymore to run back to the showroom. The lights were dim, barely lighting up the bright red decor but Yuuri knew Seung Gil would still be there-- and if he was, there was a chance patrons would be too. _ _

_ _As expected he was there, but he was alone. Staff had already begun to clean the room. _ _

_ _Yuuri walked down the stage and to the bar, intent on finding out what he could. Seung Gil saw him coming before Yuuri could say anything, stopping his cleaning and placing his hands on his hips. _ _

_ _“Bars closed, Yuuri. No more spritzers.” Seung Gil said monotonously. _ _

_ _“No, I, um… I have a question.” Seung Gil motioned for him to sit on one of the stools and he did. _ _

_ _“Alright,” he said. “What is it?” _ _

_ _Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out what it really was he wanted to know and how to ask it without raising too much suspicion. Gossip spread like wildfire amongst the staff, and though he knew he could trust Seung Gil, there was a chance someone could overhear them.  
“Who was the man sitting at the end of the bar?” Yuuri finally asked. Seung Gil knit his brows and looked at the now empty seat he was referring to. _ _

_ _“Um, a businessman I think. He was in a pretty pricey looking suit. Came in about halfway and asked me if I had a light… he spoke with an accent. Ordered a jack and coke.” He listed off the items, putting in an effort to remember all he could. Yuuri appreciated it. It had been a long night and they’d both worked 8-hour shifts. They teetered on the brink of exhaustion once they were finished. “Oh, and he left a hefty tip. That’s all I know. ” He was being sincere. Yuuri could tell. He nodded and thanked him for the information. “Can I ask why you want to know?” _ _

_ _“It’s nothing,” he said a little discouraged. “I thought I knew him, but he… doesn’t ring a bell.” _ _

_ _Seung Gil nodded.“Why don’t you try asking Sara? She knows everyone staying at the hotel. I’m sure she could help,” Seung Gil said as he started to wipe down the counters. Yuuri smiled, having not thought to do that. _ _

_ _“You’re a genius!” Yuuri exclaimed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get home safe!” _ _

_ _They smiled at each other before Yuuri left, running again, this time to the front desk. If he remembered correctly Sara would be working until 5 am. _ _

_ _He made sure not to cross any guests on his venture inward. They preferred staff to be separate from the people staying there as many were high-class travelers who’d “rather not be inconvenienced by them”, as management had put it. _ _

_ _When Yuuri reached the front desk, he found Mila in place of Sara. _ _

_ _“Mila,” Yuuri greeted her. “Where’s Sara?” _ _

_ _“Oh, hi, Yuuri,” she responded, suddenly waking from her lull. “Sara’s sick. She left a little over an hour ago. I took over her shift. Did you need something, sweetness?” _ _

_ _Yuuri smiled, “No, um… it’s nothing. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow?” _ _

_ _And suddenly, he was on his way out. Yuuri met up with Phichit outside, ready to set out heading east to their apartment. He pushed the man far from his mind, sure that it was some delusion brought on by exhaustion and boredom. _ _

_ _After all, not much happened that spring, and the transition into summer was always a slow one._ _


	2. shades of cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
The night evaporated into the air as easily as it had manifested. That night, he stayed until the end-- till the very last song, never having taken his eyes from Yuuri. _

The sun was slow to rise. 

Dullness coated the city as rain clouds and humidity moved in. Yuuri had only slept for six hours or so, waking at noon, prompted naturally by his own body and by the incessant sound of cars and disputes outside. Their neighbors shouted at each other from across the street, fighting over stolen car rims or parking spots. Even in their own building, passive-aggressive notes would be posted on doors, listing grievances over trash and late-night rockus’. He and Phichit themselves had been chided about trash sitting out on the curb on the wrong day, or for too long. Neither of them could remember the details. 

Phichit was asleep at the end of his bed, still dressed in last night's clothes and snoring like he always did. They’d stayed up talking later than they anticipated and fallen asleep on each other, none the wiser, head against head and shoulder against shoulder. The blinds in his room painted the room with yellow stripes, hitting everything from his mirror to the worn purple armchair with his clothes in the corner of the room. 

Yuuri crept out of bed, careful not to disturb his friend and propping up three pillows for him to lay on. He tiptoed from one end of the room to the door, blindly looking for his glasses until finding them on his dresser. He stepped out into the hall and made his way to the kitchen, where he set some water to boil and took out two cups from the cupboard. 

He almost took four out, for Leo and Guang Hong, but he doubted they’d woken up. They’d most likely made their way to work if they had. So he prepared just two cups of coffee. Phichit was never too far behind him after waking up. 

There was just enough coffee left in the tin for the two of them anyway. 

It was as he finished preparing Phichit’s cup that he emerged from the room, shirtless and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Their air conditioner had broken and summers in the city were unforgiving, even at night.

“Coffee?” Yuuri offered, holding the cup out. Phichit nodded, taking it and sliding down to sit on the floor. They had couch-- though tattered and dirty-- but Yuuri didn’t say anything. He joined him. 

“Did you talk to Mickey about having him cover for you tonight?” Yuuri asked him. 

“Yup, he said he’d do it. You’re still doing the set you gave me right?” 

Yuuri nodded. “I think I want to end the show acapella. Not sure what song yet,” he told him. “But I’ll just let him know when I go in later.” 

“Mhm,” Phichit hummed. “You should wear that red dress-- the one with the slit, it’s pretty.” He looked distant, even sitting so close. 

Yuuri looked him over. His worries were practically painted on his face. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to do great tonight, Phichit. They made time for you for a reason. You’ll be okay.” 

In just hours, Phichit would be making his way down to one of the most prestigious music schools in the city to audition for their admissions team. 

He smiled at Yuuri, curtly, as it quickly dissipated. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m just worried they’ll see--” He motioned to the rest of the apartment and then himself. “I can guarantee I’ll be one of the only-- if not _the_ only person who isn’t white. Or rich. It’s just… fucked up. Half of those kids have pianos of their own homes and-- what do I have?” 

Yuuri knew what he meant. It was his dream to get into that school, but it was hard to keep that dream alive when he could just barely make it by each month. They both knew what it was to struggle. To say the least, it put a damper on things. 

It was too late for Yuuri, but he wouldn’t let Phichit’s dreams go to waste. 

“Well, you have me,” he said. Phichit looked up at him with the very same puppy-dog eyes he had given him the first day they met. Yuuri smiled before adding, “and whatever money I can scrounge up. I’ll help you. So… just go in there and show them what you got. Leave the rest to me.” 

“Yuuri, I can’t take--”

“You can and you will. It’s hard living here without family. I know that better than anyone.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to help. Both because I can, and because I want to. And because you’re family. Okay?” 

He meant every word. Yuuri had been taking people in for as long as he’d been able to, just like his own mentor, Minako, had taken him in when he first arrived to the city. She’d helped him, and now he would help Phichit. While not blood related, they had been together for what felt like generations in their small chosen family. 

“Okay,” Phichit replied, softer around the eyes. 

They finished their coffee on the sun dusted floor and spent the rest of their day cleaning and lounging around like kittens until it was time for Yuuri to walk Phichit to the subway station and send him on his way to his audition, with a hug and money for dinner. He kissed him long and hard on the top of his head, fussing with his shirt as he picked imaginary lint from it. Phichit had to pry himself away from him, promising him he had smoothed out and corrected every imperfection on him. Yuuri left for the hotel not much later, taking his time on his way there. 

He walked with his head down, shoulders drawn in as is he was caving into himself. His eyes avoided everything in his path. His body tense and jaw tight for no particular reason. The buildings passed and the sun was close to burning his skin. It would be summer soon and soon it would burn like it should. But at that moment, the spring sun tried to kiss him goodbye. 

He arrived as the light began its journey west, the bright red sign naming the hotel welcoming him as he approached.

Like all employees were supposed to do, he was meant to enter through the back entrance. But you couldn’t walk to the back without walking past the front entrance first. The only path to the backdoor was through an alley off to the side. He hated doing that. Yuuri always had to prepare himself to walk past all of those rich people. It was a mixture of embarrassment and jealousy. Two things he hated feeling. 

He neared the hotel entrance and armored himself, squaring his shoulders as is ready to be struck by the rancid hand of class distinction. There were only a few people hanging around, but it still made him anxious. Yuuri kept his eyes steady on the sidewalk, counting his steps and his breathing. 

Caught up in his performance, he knocked into a tiny body-- a puny little thing topped off with blonde hair and mean green eyes. He apologized immediately, but his apologies, though plentiful and sincere, did nothing to stop the teenager in front of him from letting out a stream of curses at lightning speed, some in English, some in at least three other languages. It was like he was searching for just the right one. 

“Yuri.” 

Yuuri’s head snapped up to the door. There, the mystery man from the past night stood beside a much older man and woman. He looked piercing, dressed in a fitting black suit. His hair was tapered and faded on the sides, parted to the left with the slightest fringe falling out of place. 

Seeing him was much more terrifying than he’d anticipated. In the privacy of the club, he could fake confidence. In some way, he’d had the upper hand. But out there, on the street, Yuuri had no real power. 

He gulped, unsure of how he knew his name. 

Their eyes met for only a moment, holding onto each other, before he looked to the teen next to him as he directed, “Come.” 

He hadn’t been speaking to him in the first place. 

The boy next to him huffed, bumped his shoulder against Yuuri’s, and made his way up the stairs, but not before saying, “Watch where you’re going next time.” 

They disappeared, fading like shadows into the hotel. Yuuri was left speechless. 

The encounter left his skin tingling. He felt electric all because of a look. It was hard to shake off. He wasn’t sure if he could. 

A doorman checked on him once they were gone, helping to dust him off. Yuuri thanked him and made his way inside. 

Everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It was a sight to see and not something that happened very often at the hotel. Someone must have called off or skipped work, probably one of the higher-ups. Yuuri went into the employee locker room and saw Sara getting into her uniform, sniffling slightly and puffiness around the eyes. 

“I heard you were sick,” Yuuri said, sitting down beside her. She smiled at him weakly, clearing her throat. 

“A little bit, but I alright. Did Phichit leave on time?” 

Yuuri nodded. “Yeah, I made sure he did. Now it’s just up to them.” 

“I’m sure they’ll love him, Yuuri.” She sniffled and checked her lipstick in her mirror. The lights above them buzzed. “I heard you were looking for me last night,” she said wiping some from her teeth. “Did you need something?” 

He almost said no. He was greatly inclined to, with what happened outside and all, but he stopped himself. He bit his lip before saying, “Well, there was this guy here last night.” Sara looked at him pensively. “Expensive suit, heavy tipper-- you know the lot. Seung Gil said he spoke with an accent--”

“Rollence!” She exclaimed, slapping his knee in glee at having recognized him so quickly. Yuuri jumped back, startled. “Damen Rollence. He arrived late last night with his family. The couple and teen got separate rooms on the top floor, but he paid extra for the presidential suite.” Sara perked up and looked at him with a gleam in her eyes like she was interested in why he wanted to know about him. “Why? Do you know h--” 

“No-- I guess-- I mean… It doesn’t matter. Thank you for the information.” 

“Oh, so you _do_ know him,” she teased. 

Yuuri turned slightly red. Sighing, he thanked her, kissed her on the cheek and excused himself. “I have to go get ready.” 

“Oh, Yuuri, you’re no fun!” 

“It’s nothing, Sara. Really. I’ll see you later, alright? Take care of yourself.” She waved him away and turned back to her shirt. 

When Yuuri got to his dressing room, it was 8:30. From then until 10, an hour before his show was meant to start, he and Mickey-- in place of Phichit-- would run through his 10 song setlist as many times as they could. He came in soon after Yuuri, greeting him before quickly taking his place at the piano at the far end of the room. They ran through warm-ups for sometime before really getting started. 

“Brooklyn Baby, from the top.” 

Yuuri stood and took his place at the center of the room. He moved with the music, body slow and liquid with every note from his lips. 

They ran through each song twice before the clock struck ten. 

Mickey left the room without a word, and Yuuri was left to get ready. He picked a gown from his closet-- the red satin one with a high slit Phichit suggested-- and laid it out on the sofa in the room before turning to scan for a pair of shoes-- nude heels to pull it all together. 

It was on to make up after that. A soft base of foundation, mascara, rouge, and lip lacquer. 

A knock came from the door, and Yuuri called them in. Kenjirou, a young boy the hotel hired to run errands here and there for the summer, peaked his head in and smiled. 

“Hey, Yuuri,” he said stepping in. “There’s been some adjustments to your schedule tonight. You’ve got two dinners lined up, one at midnight and the other at 2.” He handed Yuuri a paper with the revised schedule. Yuuri looked it over and sighed. He’d have no break tonight. 

“Do you know who the dinners are with?” he asked hopefully. 

“They’re regulars. Johnson and Fitzpatrick.” He shrugged and smiled at him. “Have a good show tonight.” 

Not soon after running through his songs one more time for good measure, the time came for him to start his walk backstage. The clicking of his heels was all that could be heard down the long corridor. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the bustle of human conversation. Crowded rooms made him anxious usually, but it wasn’t scary in that context-- Yuuri knew who they were waiting for. 

He stood behind the curtain and waited for his introduction. As the curtain pulled back, he took one last deep breath in before walking out. 

His arms were widespread, like every other performance. They loved the appearance of an embrace. 

He greeted the crowd the same as always, too. Let them whoop and cheer and stand for him. Some even tossed roses. Yuuri wondered if the majority of them were regulars since those were the only people to really toss flowers. 

He caressed the microphone, hands slow and gentle with the head. Mickey began to play the first song and Yuuri began to dance, jiving and twirling with the microphone stand. The words fell from his lips and onto their ears like a million dazzling chiming bells. 

“_My baby lives in shades of blue, blue eyes and jazz and attitude,_” Yuuri sang out. He scanned the crowd with an expression fitting the sadness of the song, both as an act and reaction. The lights were low, to set the mood for his Saturday setlist, making it easier to see the crowd. 

He knew who he was looking for, and he knew how foolish it was to look but kept on doing it anyway. Maybe, just maybe, Damen Rollence had been thinking about him too-- enough to come and watch him again. Yuuri glanced at the bar and found it occupied by seemingly average businessmen in brown and grey suits, all old enough to be his father. His heart sunk, the disappointment taking more of a toll than he had anticipated. 

Yuuri let his eyes drop to the floor in an effort to clear his head. 

“_But I can’t fix him, can’t make him better. And I can’t do nothin’ about his strange weather_” 

The room was silent, out of awe or respect, Yuuri could never tell. It’s always some odd mixture of both. He’s careful not to look at the crowd too long. Sometimes it makes him feel ill. The unholy lust in their eyes. Sometimes he can see just what he is to them. Sometimes it’s too much. 

His attention turns to the front entrance of the bar, where the door opens. In, he steps, hesitant at first, but quickly with the utmost intent of joining the crowd. He locks eyes with Yuuri and continues to move up, skipping the bar completely. He knows he shouldn’t, but Yuuri can’t help but stare as he takes a seat at an empty table near the back. He doesn’t look away from Yuuri either, and they just exist in that gaze-- that most tantalizing of planes of existence. He takes out a cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his coat. Lucky Strikes. 

He starts to smoke, and soon his eyes are covered by plumes of smoke. Yuuri is forced to look elsewhere. 

Something changes in his performance. Each song feels more and more vulnerable. Voyeuristic. Personal. He wanted him, and Yuuri did too. 

The night evaporated into the air as easily as it had manifested. That night, he stayed until the end-- till the very last song, never having taken his eyes from Yuuri. 

SUMMER 1963

He comes back to watch Yuuri both nights that weekend and even made it to his weekday performances. Each time moving closer, smoking more slowly, watching more closely. 

The second night, he took a seat at one of the tables further away from the entrance. 

The third night, he moved up one more row. 

The fourth, he moved into the center. 

His fifth night there, he was only one row away from the stage. It drove Yuuri mad, but in a way that excited him. He couldn’t explain it. 

Yuuri kept those details to himself. Kept him all to himself, scared of what others would think. Keeping him a secret helped keep their rendezvous an illusion. He could daydream and wish and pine, but he couldn’t do much more than that. Yuuri had to remind himself he was just a singer, one of millions. He, on the other hand, must have been an heir, or young entrepreneur. He was unreachable. A pipe dream. 

His attitude on the matter proved to be right, as the sixth night, he failed to show up. He and his family had left the hotel. And just like that, he was gone. 

But they had their shared looks. And maybe that was all Yuuri needed from him.


	3. million dollar man

There is an air of change in the city. Leaves fall from trees, the weather runs chilly, and the sky becomes a forgotten beauty, grey and tepid when the sun peeks out from behind bumpy clouds. With so many things dead, the city still felt alive. Yuuri remained the same. 

Phichit burst into the room dripping in sweat and visibly out of breath. The air of calm Yuuri had cocooned himself in was disrupted as the door was thrown from its frame. He jumped slightly at the sound and turned around in his chair, still in the middle of putting on an earring. 

He looked at him as if he’d lost his mind and asked, “Are you okay?” 

Phichit bent down, hands on his knees for support, breathing shallow and choked as he tried to catch it. “I’m… sorry… I’m… late. Class… got out… later than… I expected.” Yuuri raised an eyebrow at him then shook his head. He pulled out a chair next to him and offered it to Phichit. 

It was late September. Phichit had been attending classes for weeks now, and as the weeks went on, he was forced to stretch his time-- spare or otherwise. He insisted on continuing to work at the club just as he had, regardless of how much of a toll it took on him. 

“I already told you, we’ve got Mickey standing by just in case. Head home, kid,” Yuuri said as he ruffled his hair. “Take a nap. Do homework.” 

“No-- Yuuri, I like playing with you. It’s good practice.” He bashfully swats Yuuri’s hand away. They smiled at each other as Yuuri put on his shoes. “I don’t mind it.” 

“Your body does. Have you looked in a mirror lately? This schedule is draining you.” Yuuri checked himself out in the mirror, looking for imperfections-- nothing too tedious, just things the audience might see. “Don’t let this ruin your chances of moving up.” 

“But I like it here,” Phichit pushed. A knock came from the door. Phichit got up and opened the door before Yuuri could ask him to sit down and let him get it. 

Leo and Guang Hong, came in, both sporting their uniforms. Yuuri greeted them before turning back to Phichit. 

“This gig isn’t forever, Phi. You’ve gotta remember that.” Phichit rolled his eyes, but Yuuri went on. “Hone your skills and find something that is. Then get out of here.” 

Leo and Guang Hong shared a look before taking a seat on the sofa in the room. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you wanted me out of your hair that badly,” said Phichit. Yuuri gave him a look before sighing. “Yuuri, I’m just kidding. I know you’re looking out for me. But-- I mean, look at you. You’re happy here, right?” 

“That question can’t be answered with a yes or no,” he said. “It’s complicated. Even if I didn’t, I couldn’t leave. ” Yuuri turned to look at himself in the mirror. “I’m past my prime.” 

“Yuuri, you’re 23. _This is_ your prime.”

“Yeah, there are plenty of clubs that would love to have you,” Leo spoke up. 

“I would have to start from scratch. Believe it or not, I don’t own all of these things,” he said as he motioned to his apparel. “Even if I had the guts to quit, it would be hard. I have people I need to take care of. I can’t just disregard the consequences.” 

The four of them shared a look of somberness, then Guang Hong spoke up. 

“Well, you’ve got a dinner tonight.” He held up a paper and handed it off to him. “Right after the show too, which is weird.” 

Yuuri looked the paper over, biting his lip in curiosity. “After the show… Hm. I’m going to have to cancel. It’s been a long week, I just want to go home.” 

“I wouldn't if I were you,” Guang Hong said. “Management tried to reason with the man and he bribed them off. Look at your tip.” 

Yuuri’s eyes scanned the paper before falling on the largest sum of money ever offered to him. “One-- One thousand dollars?” Yuuri asked them, eyes as large as the clock on the wall. “For one dinner?” 

Phichit’s mouth hung open. They both turned to look at Leo and Guang Hong, who simply shrugged and looked back at them. Yuuri scanned the paper for a name but found none. 

“Who is it? A regular?” he asked. 

“Wouldn’t say, according to Sara. He made a call earlier this evening and made the offer. He offered the hotel $2,000 and made them promise to give you half,” Guang Hong explained. 

“Wow,” Phichit said breathlessly. “_Wow_. Yuuri, you can visit home this winter. You can finally take some time off!” 

That wouldn’t be the best use for the money. He would keep half and put it in his savings. 100 dollars would go toward fixing their air conditioning, $150 would go to Phichit, and the rest would go back to his parents. But he nodded and smiled and played along as if he would go home that winter, just to keep the light in their eyes. 

That night, his set went by faster than any had ever done before. He was absent throughout it all, blind to the audience and unaware of the music. He kept with it though, as he had all of the lyrics memorized. There wasn’t much of a change to his performance other than that. Even during the intermissions, all he could think about was all of the good that would come from that money. Everything he would be able to fix. 

But as his set finished and the time to head into the private dining rooms grew closer, Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what the man would want from him. Lord knows men had wanted more for less. It would be more than sly touches of his legs and hands. Whoever it was that paid that much money for an hour with him would want more. Maybe, he’d want everything. 

Yuuri tried to shake himself back into focus. He tried to make himself feel better by remembering that the hotel had had his back times before. Security would be right outside and Leo and Guang Hong would be coming in and out. There would be other eyes on him. He wasn’t alone. 

“_You got the world but baby at what price? Something so strange, hard to define…_” Yuuri wrapped his fingers around the head of the microphone gingerly and sunk as sexily as his nerves would let him. He looked out into the crowd with focused eyes. 

He saw him there, in the very center, almost hidden. The same cloud of smoke covering his face. 

“_How did you get that way, I don't know. You're screwed up and brilliant and look like a million-dollar man. So why is my heart broke?_” 

Yuuri let his voice falter near the end of his last song. A rookie mistake. The crowd almost reeled, but Yuuri tried to play it off as if it were part of the show. Phichit, who usually kept a straight face during performances, looked up at him at the sound, unsure of what had caused it. 

It had been months since he’d seen him, and Yuuri couldn’t be sure, but there he was. Dressed as elegantly as ever, with eyes still as blue as the first time he had seen them. He prayed his own eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. 

Once the show had ended and the audience had bid him farewell, Yuuri was escorted back to his room to freshen up before his dinner. Taking a powder puff, Yuuri put on a thin layer after dabbing away the sweat. He freshened his makeup and sprayed himself with perfume, all the while Phichit sat in the background, coaching Yuuri on how to keep his dinner guest interested. 

“You should let him talk about himself-- you know how they love that. And make sure you allude to how much money he’s--” 

“Yes, yes. Phichit I know. I’ve been dealing with this for years. I know what to do.” He sounded slightly agitated. At that point in the night, he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. He threw the rings on his fingers onto the counters, letting them scatter wherever they pleased. 

“Hey,” Phichit said. “Are you okay? You look shaken.” 

Yuuri sighed. “No, it’s-- I’m okay.” He sighed. “Listen, why don’t you head home with some of the other waiters? It’s safer that way.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’ll ask Gerty for a ride. Or catch a cab or something. Okay?” Phichit nodded. “And make sure to eat something before bed.”

“Pfft. Okay, mom.” Phichit snorted, but picked up his backpack from its place on the floor. “Take care of yourself, Yuuri.” 

“You too. Love you,” Yuuri responded. 

“Love you too. I’ll leave you something in the oven, okay?” 

And with that, he was gone. 

Yuuri only had a minute to himself before Leo knocked on his door to let him know it was time. They walked together, back toward the stage, but veering off into a hall that held doors into a series of rooms. His was at the very end, where they would be away from the bustle of the cleaning crew working just beyond a couple of walls. 

Yuuri squeezed Leo’s hand as he placed his hand over the doorknobs of the double doors. He looked at the security guard and then at his reflection in the gloss of the knob. 

With one deep breath, Yuuri tried to leave his nerves behind. 

He shook his head and grimaced before forcing an open-mouthed smile on his face and opened the door. He went in smiling, turned promptly and shut the door behind him. With both hands still placed on the handles, Yuuri hesitated to look back. His heart was beating like a drum. His ears felt like they were on fire. But he forced himself to. It had to be done. 

“Good evening,” Yuuri said as he turned around. Yuuri’s eyes traveled from the floor up, to meet the gaze of a known stranger. 

“Good morning rather,” he said as he stood to greet him. His voice was lax. Calm. Charming. “It’s well past midnight now. Come, have a seat.” He spoke with an accent, just like Seung Gil had described. 

It _was_ him. 

The man stood from his place at the head of the table and pulled out a chair for Yuuri on his right side. Yuuri did as he was told, smiling as graciously as he could despite the buzzing in his bones. “I’d like to apologize for that, I’m sure you’re very tired.” 

“No, not at all.” Yuuri lied. “It’s my pleasure to be here, Mr…?” Yuuri asked him, extending a hand. 

“Names don’t matter,” he said as he took Yuuri’s hand and kissed it. “If you don’t mind.”

Yuuri looked at him for a second too long before turning his attention to the mantel on the table. He thought back to the name Sara had given him all those months ago. 

“I don’t mind at all. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” 

Yuuri gave him his pearliest smile and fixed his posture. From that short interaction, he had an idea of what kind of night it would be. But he couldn’t be sure. Something about the way he looked at him made Yuuri wonder. 

When Leo entered the room with menus, Yuuri didn’t look away from the man in front of him, since neither had he. They just watched each other as he ordered champagne for them. 

He asked Yuuri if he was ready to order and, without looking away, Yuuri said yes. He told Leo to bring him his usual order— a shrimp and noodle salad with ginger dressing. The man ordered a medium-rare ribeye steak with all of its sides. 

Leo left them once more to stare at each other as if in competition.

“So, are you from the area?” Yuuri began. 

“No,” the man replied. 

“Out of the state then?” 

He shook his head no. 

“The country?” Yuuri pressed. 

“You could say that.” 

More silence. It was unsettling to him. Usually, dinners required very little prompting from him. It seemed the man would make him carry their conversation— would he want them to talk at all?

“Are you here on business?” 

The man shrugged.

Yuuri let his smile falter before turning his eyes to his veiled arms and lap. He let him win their little game.

He could feel those blues eyes on him. Creeping and gliding along his body as they waited for their food. He didn’t particularly mind it, not while he was dressed the way he was. Something about getting all dressed up made Yuuri love attention from the right people, and the man before him fit that category. 

They waited quietly for their food. It added a layer of tension between then because Yuuri had plenty of questions for the man but no real reason to ask them. Not unless he wanted to expose himself to having thought about him for three months straight, day after day. Besides, there was a power in not inquiring. The man knew Yuuri remembered him, he was sure of it. But he didn’t know why Yuuri wasn’t asking. It was childish, but being as it was all the leverage he had. Of course, Yuuri would use it. 

He looked back up to find the man already looking at him. Most people would be embarrassed about having been caught staring, but he wasn’t. He just smiled. 

He watched Yuuri as he ate. 

Each bite felt more and more like a challenge he was either taking on or completing. Even the champagne was particularly bubbly as if it too was testing him. But what was the test? Yuuri had no way of knowing. 

The man kept a straight face throughout, only moving his face to hum in agreement when Yuuri tried to make idle conversation. There was something in his eyes, crystal clear and there to be deciphered but Yuuri couldn’t do it. Even after a few minutes and seconds of staring into his eyes, Yuuri couldn’t make out what he was feeling or thinking. It was only appropriate he reciprocated that challenge. 

As the meal neared its end and Yuuri put down his knife and fork, the man leaned back in his chair, tilting his head up slightly, as if he were trying just as hard to figure Yuuri out. Leo and Guang Hong entered the room to clear their table. As Leo collected Yuuri’s plates, the man spoke. 

“I want you to sing for me,” he said. The room fell into a deeper silence than the one before. Momentarily, both Leo and Guang Hong stopped to see how Yuuri would react. The three of them shred an innocuous look between them before continuing. 

Yuuri didn’t back down. He cleared his throat, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and answered, “Alright.”

“—On stage. I want to see you sing on stage.” 

Something followed that sentence. Something silent and secret— just for him. 

Yuuri nodded and stood from his seat. He walked to the door, calm and collected, adamantly trying to keep his elegance about him. Turning back to look at him— and only him that time— he said, “Are you coming?” 

And so he stood and followed Yuuri out the door, but not before leaving their servers a tip and collecting his jacket. He almost rushed after him, but not enough that anyone could care enough to see— they were keeping up appearances after all. It was a contest between the two to see who could perform the longest. Who could hold out on the other?

Yuuri walked down the hallways in the back and into the back entrance of the stage. He didn’t look back to check on him. Yuuri knew he would be there regardless of how fast he was walking or how many turns he took. 

He watched from his place at the piano as the man peered into the room with not a hair out of place. Yuuri pointed to the table directly in front of the stage. The man took his seat and pulled out a box of cigarettes from his pocket. He placed one in his mouth, lighting it as Yuuri played with the keys of the piano. 

“Is there anything, in particular, you'd like me to perform?” Yuuri said looking back at him. The smoke started to form a halo around him. 

The man smirked under the haze, and said, “Sing me your favorite song.” 

Yuuri took a deep breath, knitting his brows without thinking. 

“Is there a problem?” 

“No,” Yuuri said. “It’s just… I… Hold on.” He looked back down at his hands and waited. There had to be a song… one he preferred to the others. There had to be something. He went through every song he knew until he came to his conclusion. 

He took a deep breath, turned back to smile at the man and began to play. It was a longer version of the song, but he was trying to kill time. The longer the song took the less time he had to speak and make a fool of himself. 

“_It’s not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me. Oh no,_” Yuuri sang. “_It’s just the nearness of you… _”

From the look in his eyes, Yuuri guessed he hadn’t expected to go for something so soft and tender. His performance music was more sultry and enticing than some piano ballad. It was what the audience wanted after all. They didn’t pay to see him lovelorn and enchanted. They paid to be wowed and seduced by him, essentially. It was the price he paid for the itty bitty bit of fame he possessed. 

To his surprise, the man put out his cigarette and leaned into the performance, elbows on the table and lips parted. His hands were clasped together in that beautifully contemplative way. 

“_It isn't your sweet conversation that brings this sensation. Oh no, it's just the nearness of you._” 

After a certain point, he wasn’t performing anymore. He quit looking back and smiling, quit batting his eyelashes in an attempt to entice the man. No, after a while Yuuri was just singing. Just like he used to do when it wasn’t for survival. He was enjoying himself. 

“_I need no soft lights to enchant me if you will only grant me the right to hold you ever so tight… And to feel in the night the nearness of--_” 

A loud crash came from the back, probably the kitchen. Yuuri knew that, but only after he winced, shaken by the sound. Even the man, who had been stoic all night, stiffened and whipped his head to the back as if something was coming for him, placing a hand into the inside of his suit jacket. 

“I think they dropped some plates in the back,” Yuuri said from the stage. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you.” He didn’t know why he phrased it that way, but it was out of his mouth and into the room before he could stop himself. He turned back to look at him with narrow eyes, as if still unsure. When he retrieved his hand from his jacket, Yuuri caught sight of the magazine of a handgun. Then he smiled, in that charming embarrassed sort of way and Yuuri forgot all about it. He even smiled back. 

“It’s getting late,” the man said. Yuuri nodded. “Do you have a ride home?” 

Yuuri should have said _Yes, I do. Her name is Gerty, She’s got an old station wagon and she lives right down my street_, but he didn’t. He just shook his head and smiled some more. 

“Would you like me to take you home?” 

He should have said no, should have said ‘Thank you, but I’m alright’. 

Instead, his answer led him into a car so luxurious Yuuri could picture it speeding down the red brick roads of Monaco. He was back in his normal dress, face bare of any makeup and skin free of jewelry. The man was at the wheel, hair tousled by the wind as they drove down the roads that led to Yuuri’s neighborhood. Now and then they would look at each other with that gleam of something more than special in their eyes. Something like the lights on the buildings around them. Twinkling, shining, eternal. 

How foolish he was. Truly. Getting into a strangers car like some teenager who didn’t know better. 

Yuuri knew better. He had known his entire life. 

When the man stopped in front of his apartment building, Yuuri didn’t know what to say. There were so many things he _could_ have said. Too many things. But he doesn’t say anything, he just sat there until he opened the car door without a word. The man tipped his head at him and they both went their separate ways.   
_____

He comes back between September and October, usually for one night, sometimes two. Always when Yuuri has a show. Every night goes the same when he comes to town. He stays for the entirety of his show, smoking cigarette after cigarette like he doesn’t know if they'll kill him. He waits late into the night for him, watching as he walks off to entertain other men for less money, less respect, less fun. Then they have dinner, where the light conversation picks up more and more with each time. 

And Yuuri sings him a song. A single song, always of his choice. At around 3 am, after they’ve had their fun, the man drives Yuuri home. They say nothing, then they part for ten or fourteen days at a time. 

Yuuri wondered where he went and what he did in that time. The man knew everything about him, essentially. His home, his work, his schedule, birthday, favorite color… everything. And Yuuri didn’t even know his name. Those thoughts busied him even when they were together, laughing and talking like they’d known each other all of their lives. 

Looking at him from across the dinner table felt overwhelming to him. The mystery before him was too great to solve. The world his silence shielded from him was bigger than anything he could conceptualize. Watching his pink lips move as he spoke, wrap around the body of his cigarette, and blow out smoke was all he could do to ground himself. But sometimes that didn’t even work. 

Even now, looking at him felt like watching something abstract. 

A knock came from the door. Yuuri was plucked back into reality, smiling politely at the man like he hadn’t been galaxies away. 

“Come in,” he calls out. 

Leo made his way in with a bottle of champagne and two dessert menus. The menus were handed to them before the champagne was served. It took everything in Yuuri’s body to fight the urge to look at Leo and try and explain what “this” all was-- even if he didn’t know himself. But he knew what it looked like, and he knew people talked. 

As soon as their flutes were filled, Leo left them alone again. 

Much to Yuuri’s surprise, the man wasn’t much of a conversationalist, not about himself at least. Even though they had come to know each other better. Mostly, he just watched Yuuri and hummed along whenever he tried to spark a discussion. He was especially sheltered surrounding questions about himself. Whereas most men liked to boast, he seemed almost drawn back from mentioning his career and accomplishments. They spent their hour talking about Yuuri-- or rather-- Yuuri spent it talking about himself. 

“Yuuri?” he asked. “Are you alright? You seem distant tonight.” 

Yuuri blushed and shook his head, as he said, “No, I’m alright. It’s just been a long day.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had been on his feet all day long. The man nodded, looking somewhat guilty. “But it’s fine. I’m never too tired for a good meal and conversation. What did you ask me again?” 

The man smiled.

“So you were born in Japan?” he asked. 

“Yes,” he said, turning his head to the side and smiling. “but I always dreamed of coming to America-- so one day I did. I haven’t been back for some time.” 

“Bad home life?” 

“No, nothing like that. It was… I felt-- Oh, how do I explain this… I… felt trapped. I was surrounded by all of these people who loved me, but that was all there was. I felt coddled. So, I left.” 

“Do you ever get homesick?” 

“Well… I think we all get a little homesick now and then.” 

The man very much so liked personal questions. It wasn’t until he finished telling some long, drawn-out story, that he saw the look he had in his eyes. Almost like Yuuri was the only thing in the world. It prompted Yuuri to ask him, “What? Do I have something on my face?” 

“No, you look perfect. I just… could listen to you for hours.” 

His heart softened. Yuuri wasn’t sure how to reply. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had these meetings be like this,” he admitted as almost a passing comment to himself. He perked up, sweeping his silver hair back into a more styled position. 

“Like what?” he asked. “What are they usually like?” 

“Well… usually, it’s groups of men. One will make the reservation, but bring five or so more.” He looked out at the empty seats surrounding the table. “They talk and talk and I just sit here… just smiling. Some would try to…” he trailed off, almost forgetting where he was. He looked back up at him and smiled. “It’s just different. I have fun with you.” 

“What would they try--” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Yuuri picked up his flute and began to drink. The eyes of the man to his left began to narrow, finally coming to understand what Yuuri had left out. “Kind of like names, you know?” 

The man shook his head. “It’s not like names at all. These men-- They made passes at you?” 

Yuuri hummed his answer, eyes on his hands. “It’s why we have security. Most of them learn after their first warning, but you know how some men are… ” He gave a cynical laugh. “Relentless.” 

“Yuuri, I’m sorry if-- I didn’t think--” 

Yuuri’s face went red at the sound of his name on his lips accompanied by so much pity. His skin flushed and eyes widened. 

“No, no. It’s fine. You had no way of knowing,” Yuuri told him. “It’s just something that happens in my line of work. In any line of work, really.” 

“Yuuri--” he started again with the same apologetic tone. 

“Really.” Yuuri placed a hand on top of his. “It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it. Why don’t we go to the stage room, hm?” 

He was up and out of his seat with the man trailing closely behind, hands clasped together. He looked back every couple of seconds with a wide smile to convince him that yes, things happened, but it was fine. Being with him made things fine. 

They take their usual spots, one at the piano and the other front and center. Yuuri sang him a song, then two, then three, then a waiter came in to tell them it was time to go. Their night felt more rushed than usual. Maybe he had sung too quickly. 

“I’ll see you out back?” Yuuri asked him as he stood from the piano bench. The man nodded. 

“I’ll see you there.”

It took Yuuri no more than ten minutes to get out of his stage clothes and into what he’d come in with. From there, he avoided all of his coworkers and made his way outside, where he was waiting, hair blowing in the cold October wind, leaned against his Aston Martin (as he had so graciously informed Yuuri on one of their many drives). 

When they made it to his home, Yuuri thanked him and moved to undo his seat belt when the man placed a hand on top of his. Yuuri stopped dead in his tracks and traced the hand back up to its owner’s eyes. 

“Yuuri, I won’t be back for some time.” Yuuri blinked, slowly, before clearing his throat. He threw the words out like they were bombs.

Maybe they were. 

“Um, back… here?” Yuuri asked. “The city? New York? Or the country?” 

“The country,” he said. Yuuri gulped. 

“For how long?” 

“I’m not sure. Three months. Maybe six. It depends really.” 

“Why? Where are you going?” 

“I can’t say.” 

“Oh,” was how he responded. Yuuri sat back and closed his eyes. There was something heavy on his chest. Something that was making it harder to breathe. “Can I ask you something?” 

The man chuckled. “It depends on what it is.” 

“What’s your name?” Yuuri spoke quietly. “And don’t lie to me. I’ll know.” 

He laughed for the first time. A good, full laugh. It was like wind chimes. 

“And how would you know that?” 

“I just will.” 

“Okay, my name is Christophe.” 

“Liar.” 

Then they both laughed, and Yuuri didn’t press him further. He doesn’t mention Damien Rollence. He doesn’t feel entitled to it. The man looked at him for a good time, eyes moving over all of the parts of his face. He stopped to meet Yuuri’s eyes, placing his hand on his cheek. Yuuri leaned into his touch. “I’ll tell you someday. I promise.” 

Yuuri believed him, out of both pure idiocracy and trust. Those two things were so interchangeable they were hard to distinguish. He pressed a kiss to the spot just below his earlobe, where his jaw and cheek met. 

Yuuri pulled back and said, “I’ll hold you to that promise.” He studied his face and listened to his heartbeat, loud in his ears. He kissed the corner of his mouth. “Take care of yourself.” 

The man nodded and he stepped out of the car. 

It would be weeks until he heard anything from him again.


	4. without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His worst nightmares were coming true. He was caught in the middle of something. Something bad._

Something was wrong, Yuuri could feel it. 

He couldn’t help but speed up his pace as he walked down the busy streets, passing from building to building, block to block, on his way to work. 

Over his shoulder, he could see an older gentleman, about 40 or so, keeping a narrow distance between them, close enough that he wouldn’t lose track of him. For the past couple of weeks, he’d felt watched. At home, through open blinds and dull curtains. At work between hallways and opening doors. Even when he was out with friends, getting lost in the mass of bodies He’d always felt it but seeing it was different. He wasn’t safe. 

It would make him late to work, but Yuuri had to lose him. Taking a different route, through a very densely packed street, Yuuri blended into the crowd and hid inside a store as he watched the man following him pass by, unaware of what happened, broad back and the black coat that covered it disappearing from view.   
He waited five minutes before stepping back outside and making his way to work. He walked the rest of the way with his keys in between his fingers, like brass knuckles.   
When he arrived, he didn’t mention the man following him to anyone, somewhat hoping that not speaking about it would make it less real. But it didn’t stop his nerves, hands shaking and body breaking into a cold sweat, sending shivers down his spine.

It was December 23nd and the city was white with snow and cold northern winds. Months had passed and with them, Yuuri’s hopes of seeing him again. He promised himself that if he didn’t return by February, he would try his hardest to pack up all of the gifts and move on with his life.

“Yuuri,” Phichit called from behind his dressing room door. “Are you decent?” 

Yuuri got up to open the door, tightening the robe around his body. Phichit smiled when he opened it, holding something behind his back. 

“Christmas has come early,” Phichit said. “He sent another one.”

The first package arrived a week after he left. It was a pajama set. Silky and rich in texture. They fit like a dream and made his nights just a little more bearable. He’d had someone deliver it to the hotel, rather than his home, for reasons Yuuri didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. He could never really tell. He seemed like the type of person to want to keep things private, and by having it, and every other gift after it, delivered to the hotel was the antithesis of privacy. 

His coworkers meant well, but they couldn’t help but pry and gossip about the gold and lilac boxes arriving with Yuuri’s name on them week by week. Pajamas. Perfumes. Roses. Shoes. Suits. Watches. Earrings. Once, he had even sent a rug and pillows. He sent so many extravagant things, he was worried that word would get out of them all sitting in his apartment and someone would break in. 

Still, the gifts meant nothing compared to the notes he would write to him. Messages, cryptic and lovely as he, written with a blue ink pen. He treasured them above the gifts themselves, placing them all in an ivory envelope he kept underneath his mattress. It was probably a dumb thing to do-- leaving a paper trail of their connection. 

The rational part of his brain was always screaming at him to let him go and realize he was dangerous. But the infatuated part of him knew he wouldn’t be able to do that even if he wanted. He didn’t even know his name, but he knew enough to keep him fixated on his safety and return. 

“Bold of you to assume it’s him at all,” Yuuri responded playing at sounding as disinterested as possible. “Could be someone else.” 

“Oh, stop playing.” He handed Yuuri the box. “You know you love it.” 

Yuuri felt his smile creep on as he held the gift in his hands. “Yeah, a little… I just wish I could see him.” He set the box down and untied the ribbon tied around it. He went through the tissue paper to find another tux at the bottom, but nothing else. Like the past three boxes, there was no message. Nothing. He sighed and leaned against the counter, head down. 

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Phichit asked. Yuuri shook his head. 

“God, this is so stupid.” He said as he packed everything back up. “We’re not dating. I don’t love him. He’s… he gives me gifts! I keep him company every now and then-- This is ridiculous. It’s a sham.” 

“Maybe so,” Phichit let slip. Yuuri looked at him with sad, doe eyes. “What? Yuuri, I’m not going to lie to you. This relationship is pretty one-sided.” 

Another knock came from the door before a voice called in, “15 minutes till showtime!” 

His last show of the year before New Year's Eve was upon him-- his biggest show of the year. Looking over to the rack of dresses in the corner, Yuuri asked Phichit to bring him his favorite gown.

He dressed more slowly than he should have. Feeling everything he could to ease the edge. They ended up rushing out of the dressing room, running as the clock got closer and closer to midnight. Phichit left him backstage with two minutes to spare before making his way outside, to his seat at the piano. 

His hands were shaking and he couldn’t stop thinking about the man who had followed him to work. His worst nightmares were coming true. He was caught in the middle of something. Something bad. 

The curtains parted and he stepped out, teeth flashing and eyes twinkling. There would be no introduction tonight, just singing. The crowds around the holidays called for loners-- mostly single men, recent divorcees, or older gentlemen who had given everything up for success, trying to find some meaning in that by blowing their money on a 20 something singer. It should have been an easy night, but as his eyes combed through the crowd, Yuuri’s blood ran cold. 

A horrid image met him at the back of the room, where a man in dark sunglasses and a winter coat stared him down. There was no smoke. No dazzling blue. No hair the color of moonlight. Just dread and a nasty grin. 

He spun and made his way to the mic stand, starting his song. 

Unlike other times, when he would ease into the performance as time passed, his hands didn’t stop shaking. Worry boiled in the pit of his stomach with every note and word. He wanted to run, to hide, but he could do neither of those things. Whatever that man wanted, if Yuuri did anything other than do his job, it would affirm his right to be there. Intimidation, that was what he was up against. 

Intimidation. 

Yuuri let a smirk fall through. 

If he thought he’d be easily intimidated by his callous stare, he didn’t know shit about what Yuuri did for a living. 

So he stood there on that stage, for all two hours of his show, dancing and drinking and laughing with the crowd like there was nothing wrong. Near the end, the menace in the back left. He could finally breathe. But something still felt off. 

He clambered out of the backstage area and ran to the nearest bathroom, where he emptied the contents of his stomach through labored breathing and a bout of sweat. 

“Yuuri?” Phichit knocked on the door, voice full of worry. “Are you alright?” 

“I--” Yuuri stopped to collect himself. His voice was wavering. “I’m okay. I think there was something wrong with my dinner earlier.” 

“Oh, no. Well, let’s get you changed so we can go home. We can make some tea there and see if it helps.” 

Yuuri’s heart dropped. He had no doubt that the man following him knew who Phichit was, and their routine. 

“Actually, why don’t you head on home? I have some things to do here, and I’ll be long.”

“Are you sure? I can wait--” 

“I’m sure, Phichit. Just go on and get home. I’ll see you later.” He waited, sitting on the bathroom floor. “Why don’t you take a cab? It’s freezing. Okay?” Phichit agreed. “Alright, love you. Be safe.” 

“Alright,” Phichit said hesitantly. “Love you too.” 

Silence followed. 

Once he was sure the hallway was clear, Yuuri emerged from the restroom, mouth rinsed and makeup gone. He headed down to his dressing room, holding onto the walls for support. He wasn’t feeling particularly weak, but fear was a hell of a debilitant. 

He didn’t know what to do once he was inside his dressing room. He thought about changing but something held him back. If he changed, he would have to leave… would have to walk the streets and find a cab before that man found him. He could spend the night in his dressing room, but that would raise more suspicion if they were waiting for him. They would know he knew about them. 

He cleaned himself completely, still in his gown. Yuuri drowned in his anxieties. He bent at the waist and held his breath until his heartfelt it would burst from in his chest onto the floor. 

A sharp knock came from the door. 

Yuuri checked the clock: 2:30 am. Everyone should have been home. No one but the front desk staff stayed past two.

He picked up a stiletto from the floor, creeping closer to the door. Then came another knock on his door, louder. The air was stiff. If he didn’t die at the hands of someone else, he’d die from a heart attack. He opened the door with the stiletto behind his back, ready to attack. Upon opening the door, the shoe rolled onto the floor. 

“You’re back,” he whispered. 

He fell into him like a pebble into a lake. Yuuri barely registered that the man had hugged him back when he was splitting them apart, taking grip of the fabric of his shirt. “Do you have _any idea_—“ Yuuri stopped himself as he began to cry— from relief, from joy, from fear. He didn’t know. 

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry,” he pleaded with him. “I tried to make it back sooner— in time for the show—” Yuuri stopped crying for a second to look at him, amazed that was what he thought he was crying about. Then he laughed. 

“I could hit you,” Yuuri seethed half-jokingly. “_God_.” 

The man chuckled and drew Yuuri back into his body, wrapping his arms all the way around him. Yuuri nestled into his chest and began to breathe more easily. He could hear his heart through his shirt, beating just as intensely as his own. They were the same after all. Just as human. 

“Let’s go on a drive. What do you say?” The man asked him, placing his chin on the top of his head. 

“Okay,” Yuuri whispered, and he almost drifted away from reality. “I need to change,” he told the man. 

His hold tightened and Yuuri laughed. “Why? You look perfect as is.” 

“I’m serious, this dress is killing me.” The man laughed too and let him go. “You can take a seat on the sofa. Now, close your eyes and don’t look.” The man snorted but did as he was told. 

Yuuri undressed and changed, slightly out of his view just to be sure. Looking at the way the man was dressed— a plain collared white shirt with black dress pants and a dark brown winter jacket— he doubted they would be going anywhere else. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” Yuuri tapped his shoulder and looked down on him as he stood at his side. The man peaked through his hands and smiled. 

“You always are,” he told Yuuri, who just rolled his eyes. 

“Jet lag is making you silly,” Yuuri said. He picked up his coat and walked to the door, ready to go. 

“You’re not taking your suit?” The man asked looking at the hastily opened box on the counter. Yuuri blushed.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Yuuri said. He walked over to it and picked it up. “Thank you— for reminding me and for the gift— _gifts_. All of them.” 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

They walked down the hall that led out into the back alley of the hotel. Yuuri could see his car parked off in the distance. He turned to look up at him and his terrifyingly beautiful face. 

“Why did you send me so many things?” Yuuri asked him, curiosity taking over. 

“I didn’t want you to think I had forgotten about you,” the man said. He sighed. “That proved itself hard to do. I guess I just didn’t want you to forget me.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you try and forget me?” He wasn’t insulted. Yuuri tried to forget him too. It was only natural after so much time apart. 

You try whatever you can to forget something that seems too far away— too impossible to reach. 

The man took a deep breath. “I thought that would be best. But I promised you and myself I would come back, and I’m nothing if not someone that keeps their promises.” He took Yuuri’s hand into his own. “Even if that weren’t the case, who in their right mind would let you go?” 

Yuuri held onto his hand more firmly and said playfully, “Why, sir, is that your way of saying you’re in love with me?” 

“Maybe,” he said, stopping in his tracks. He turned to face Yuuri, lips curving into a smile. “Yes, I think it is.” He leaned down and kissed him, lips warm and soft on his own, in the middle of the alley, where the light was faint and the air was cold. 

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? It was the most natural thing he had ever done. Yuuri kept on walking, still holding onto him. 

They drove until sunrise. He pushed all of his worries away, as he laid his head wistfully on the man's shoulder, watching as the buildings passed by and by and the dark winter night sky turned a soft hue of purple. He sang along to the songs on the radio, eyes closed and daunting. They were in their own world, the one they both had missed so. 

“Spend the holidays with me,” he proposed as they stopped to get gas. Yuuri stared at him from across the car, following the thick lines of smoke lifting from his cigarette. The man held up a finger. “One week.” 

“I don’t get more than three days off,” Yuuri told him. “That’s all I can give you.” 

“I’ll take it,” he responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a shorter chapter but he's baaack~


	5. love song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He took his hands and placed them on his waist, placing his own on the man's shoulders. He thought he’d feel silly, but he didn’t at all. They swayed in the silence, basking in the glowing light coming from the lamps lit in the room. Yuuri rested his head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. The man began to hum, lulling him into a dream. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it safe, is it safe, to just be who we are?

They ate breakfast in the car (two black coffees and bakery pastries-- strawberry danish for him, a blueberry bear claw for Yuuri) in silence, wiping away at crumbs and sugar on their faces. In between kisses and laughter, he drove Yuuri home to pack what he needed for their getaway. 

It was different taking him to his neighborhood during the day time. More public. He knew people would talk about the expensive car parked outside of his building and about the man sitting inside, chain-smoking cigarettes like his life depended on it. At least he’d know he was real if other people saw him too. 

He moved quickly, running into the building and up to his floor. He didn’t bother knocking or waking Phichit. Going straight into his room, Yuuri grabbed a duffel bag from his closet and began to stuff clothing and amenities into it. 

“Going somewhere?” Phichit asked from behind him. 

“Yeah,” he responded, still not bothering to look up. “I’m going away for a couple of days.”

“So he’s back?” 

“Yup,” Yuuri said. 

“For good?” Phichit asked. Yuuri stopped packing for second and looked back. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was better off in his head. 

“I’ll be back in three days.” He walked past him as he went back out to the living room, duffel bag on his shoulder. 

“Yuuri--” 

“If you need money, there’s some in--”

“I have money, Yuuri. I’m not a child--” 

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“And I’m trying to look out for _you_,” Phichit told him, holding on to Yuuri’s elbow. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know his name, or where he’s from-- Yuuri, you couldn’t even tell me his favorite color. And you’re just going to go away with him? Can you think this through for one minute? It was innocent at first, but something’s changed in you. You’re jumpy and anxious--” 

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, cupping his face and looking into his eyes. “I trust him.”

“But--” 

“No. No buts. I trust him, so trust me and my judgment.” He kissed the top of his head and left without another word. Phichit didn’t bother calling after him. 

Outside, the sun was out and brilliant.

The man helped to load his bag when he made it downstairs. Once they were inside the car, Yuuri turned to him and asked in a somewhat frustrated tone, “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Where did that come from?” the man asked as they backed out of the parking spot. Yuuri shrugged, blushing. He smiled, “Red, I think. Rich and dark shades of red.” 

Yuuri nodded and sunk into his seat, ready to collapse from sheer embarrassment. 

“What about you?” the man asked him. 

Yuuri peered over at him, squinting before deciding that he wasn’t mocking him. “Blue.” 

They smiled at each other in silence. “So, where are we going?” 

“Hm? Oh, to the Hamptons. I made a reservation for a room in a hotel near the beach. Even with the snow, it’s beautiful this time of year.”

The drive was long enough for Yuuri to fall asleep. Unlike his companion suffering from jet lag, Yuuri hadn’t slept for twelve hours and it began to take a toll on him. The man offered him his coat to cover himself and his shoulder to sleep on, both of which Yuuri accepted graciously. 

He dreamt of shadows and eyes following him in the night. Looming over him. Creeping up. Hunting him. Every twist and turn held a new terror. Yuuri ran and ran and ran but there was nothing he could do to get away. The darkness would always reach him. Thick, rough fingers would always take hold and he’d be dragged away with nothing to focus on but the blue eyes he was leaving behind. The pair of heart-shaped lips that wouldn’t answer his calls for help.

“Yuuri. Baby,” the man said, shaking him out of his sleep, voice soft and gentle. “We’re here.” 

Yuuri opened his eyes to see the man standing outside on his side of the car, holding the door open for him. They were parked in front of a hotel, covered in snow before the crashing ocean waves. He accepted the man’s hand in helping him out of the car, occupied with rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Standing upright, Yuuri looked back into the car and asked, “Where’s my bag?” 

“I checked us in while you were sleeping, everything is already inside,” he said. Pulling out a key from his pocket, he smiled and handed it to Yuuri. “Here’s your copy of the room key. Come on.” 

He followed him inside, head ducked down to avoid meeting the eyes of the staff. There was a secret shame walking beside him. However free he felt at work and in his neighborhood, the world wasn’t as accepting as his personal bubble. Of course, people would stare. He knew that. Expected it. Yuuri just wasn’t ready. 

The man must have felt this too, holding him tighter by the waist as they passed through the lobby and into the elevator. They shared a silence between them, friendly. They didn’t need to say anything to understand each other. 

The first thing he did was call Phichit and leave him the number for the front desk. If he needed to reach him, he could call them. It was a short conversation, still somewhat hostile from that morning. 

Their room was on the top floor, separated from all the rest. It was a large space, with a full kitchen and living room, two bathrooms and three separate rooms. Yuuri imagined it must have been meant for a family with how spacious it was. 

There were windows from every angle, letting in natural sunlight and a view of the ocean. He took off his coat, laying it on an armchair, and moved to the terrace, where one could take in the landscape in its entirety. He watched the snow fall unto the earth. 

Yuuri couldn’t escape the feeling of being in a snow globe. Everything was so quiet, so serene. So unlike anything he had ever known. 

The man cleared his throat behind him. Yuuri turned back. 

“I put your things in your room, in case you want to freshen up. It’s down this way.” 

His room. 

His own room. 

Apart from him. Yuuri didn’t know what he had expected, but sleeping in a separate bed hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

He followed him down the hall ending with two doors, identical, before them. The man opened his and showed him in. The room, like the rest of the suite, was spacious and open with windows on the east and north-facing walls. The decor was minimalist, white and clean, with splashes of soft coral and eggshell blue among decorations. His duffle bag stuck out like a sore thumb among it all, and he didn’t doubt he did too. 

“There’s a bathroom in here and I made sure they stocked the fridge before we arrived, so if you’re hungry just help yourself. I’ll be in the room next door if you need me. Make sure to get some sleep,” the man said, smiling dimly. He must have finally started to crash. “You’ve had a long night.” 

Yuuri crossed his arms over his body and smiled back, “Okay. You rest too.” 

He watched him disappear back out into the hall with a simple nod of the head, closing the door behind him. 

He stood and stared at his surroundings, exploring each surface and painting in the room closely, before unpacking and heading off to shower, fighting sleep through each step. Once he emerged, clean and warm, Yuuri plopped down on his bed and closed his eyes. He wondered what he was doing in the Hamptons with someone he barely knew. He wondered why he felt he’d known him all his life. Maybe for more than one lifetime. 

Still, that night, while out at dinner, Yuuri realized it was a different dynamic between them when they were in public. They realized it was harder to stand too close or hold hands the way they had done so easily in private. They weren’t in the city. Things were bound to be different. 

Over dinner, Yuuri asked him, “They’re all staring aren’t they?” His eyes were glued to the food on his plate, too scared to look anywhere else. 

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been looking at you all night,” he said reaching over to hold his hand, running his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles. “Don’t worry about them, Yuuri. Let them stare.” 

He eased into his seat and looked up at him, eyes round and full of warmth. The man smiled at him, being Yuuri’s hand up to his lips and laying a gentle kiss upon it. 

They finished their meal and headed back to the hotel. 

They settled into the living room, sitting down near one another with books in one hand, the other holding each other. Yuuri couldn’t stop looking at him or thinking about how warm his hands were or about the little crease between his eyebrows that formed when he read. It filled him with such potent love, looking at him sitting as he’d always been meant to be seen by him. 

“Dance with me,” Yuuri told him, standing up with his hand still in his. The man peered up from his book and smiled. 

“There’s no music,” he said as he stood up. 

“We don’t need any.” 

He took his hands and placed them on his waist, placing his own on the man's shoulders. He thought he’d feel silly, but he didn’t at all. They swayed in the silence, basking in the glowing light coming from the lamps lit in the room. Yuuri rested his head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. The man began to hum, lulling him into a dream. 

“_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens… Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche… Voilà le portrait sans retouches… De l'homme auquel j'appartiens,_” the man sang softly into his ear. Even without speaking french, Yuuri knew exactly what song it was. He had sung it time and time before. 

They kept in their waltz until the phone rang. The man hesitated, not bothering to stop dancing until the third ring. He gave in, apologizing to Yuuri as he ran off to answer. 

“I won’t be long,” he promised. Yuuri knew he wouldn’t be back as soon as he moved to leave the room. He was gone and speaking in a language Yuuri didn’t understand. But he understood why he had to answer. He had business to attend to. That was reason enough. With a heavy heart, Yuuri made his way down the hall moments later, intent on going to bed. 

In his dreams, all he could see was smoke. It didn’t burn or hurt his throat. It was comforting. It smelled like him. He reveled in the warmth of it, spinning like a child. Walking aimlessly through it, Yuuri didn’t feel panicked. He knew each step and where it would take him. 

When he woke up, it was to the soft, hushed silence in the emptiness of the suite. It was 1 am and the world was pitch black. The wind outside had picked up, howling like wolves as it carried the snow in its currents. Yuuri picked himself up from the bed, half expecting to see Phichit off in the distance somewhere before groggily recalling where he was and why.

Slipping out of bed, Yuuri opened his door and walked down the hall, turning to knock on the man’s door, before stopping himself upon hearing whispered violence between voices. He was still on the phone, hours later. He knew he shouldn’t pry, but he’d caught the end of something-- his name. 

“Yuri, I know what I’m doing,” the man whispered. “Yes, he’s here, but-- if it comes down to it, I will. You know I will.” He thought back to the first time he saw him properly, and the teen who accompanied him. Yuuri was certain they shared the same name. 

Creeping back into his own room, Yuuri began to pace, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. Something wasn’t right. The tone in his voice had been off-- defensive and worried, almost like he was in danger-- _like they both were_. 

He needed to know what he was getting himself into before things went any further. He needed to know just what he had signed up for.

Yuuri took a long and hard look at himself in the mirror. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were downcast. His red pajama ensemble shone in the stray light coming from outside. 

He wasn’t ready to know everything. He feared it would be too much. Feared it would force him to leave and never look back. But if he didn’t do it-- if he didn’t ask-- he would regret it for the rest of his days, living in love with a man whose name he didn’t even know. 

Determination in his step, Yuuri walked back out and knocked on his door. He heard the receiver click and feet approach, padding the floor. When the door opened, Yuuri denied him the right to a greeting. 

“I need you to tell me your name,” Yuuri said, figuring it would be best to start small and go from there. His voice wavered with uncertainty. “I’m being serious. I drove all the way here with you and I have no idea who you are even in the slightest--” The man opened his mouth to say something, but Yuuri didn’t stop. “You know so much about me and it’s-- it’s not fair that you’re keeping me in the dark. I want to know everything about you--” Yuuri held the words he wanted to say back, but only for a moment. If what they were going to have was going to be meaningful, they both needed to be upfront with each other. “The good, the bad. Everything. So, tell me your name. You’re real name-- and we’ll go from there.” 

The man took a deep breath and moved to the side, offering Yuuri entrance to his room. 

“The bad, huh?” he said with a tired chuckle. He looked at Yuuri and raised an eyebrow. “Everything?” 

Yuuri walked in and looked him up and down. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and eyes dulled by exhaustion.

“Everything,” Yuuri affirmed. 

“Sit down,” he told Yuuri as he moved to lean against a desk in the room. 

“I’ll stand.” Yuuri crossed his arms, making sure not to break eye contact. 

They looked at each other, then the man reached out for his hand and said, “Come on, I’ll sit with you.” 

Yuuri let him take his hand and lead him to the end of the bed. He peered into his eyes, trying to make something out of the pale blue color. Trying to beyond his cool and calm exterior. But nothing rose from them. Sometimes Yuuri wondered if he was even human. 

“I can’t tell you my name,” he said with as much anguish as Yuuri felt, voice falling flat and breathy. “I wish I could, but… it would put you in more danger than I’m willing to risk.” Yuuri felt a shiver journey over his spine, remembering all of the nights he’d seen shadows in the corner of his eye. “In my line of work, a name is poison. If you don’t know it, it’s easier for you to lie. Easier for you to forget me, should the time come.”

“I wouldn’t--”

“I know,” the man said softly. He squeezed his hand. “I know you wouldn’t. I know that…” He struggled to form the words to continue. Yuuri watched him as he concentrated, eyebrows coming together as he looked down at their hands. “I know it’s not easy-- being together this way. You give me everything and I-- I can’t even give you my name.” The man took a deep breath, shoulders falling from grace in the pale light of the early morning. “I’ve done things, Yuuri. Things I’m not proud of.”

“I won’t judge you-- and I can protect myself! How bad could it be? I mean, you haven’t killed anyone have you?” He said it half-jokingly, but by the look on his face, Yuuri knew the answer. “_Oh_.” 

“It was in self-defense. I had to, or it would have compromised my team and me.” Yuuri drew back slightly, unsure if he should stop or keep going with the questions. “I had no choice.” 

“You still haven’t told me what you do,” Yuuri told him. 

“Yuuri, I can’t let you into this world-- this part of my life. I’ve accepted death for myself, but you-- you are _life_. And to take that from you-- put you at risk-- I couldn’t. And I know it’s unfair, but I can’t risk it. You’re the only good thing I’ve had in a long time.” He got up from the bed and walked to the other side, near the window, peering out as if lost in thought or unsure of what to say next. 

Yuuri had taken it too far. He hadn’t gotten what he’d asked for, but it seemed the man had given more than he had ever given to anyone before. 

Yuuri followed him, standing by his side and taking his hand. 

They looked down at their hands, intertwined. The man drew them to his chest. “There are always consequences for my indulgences-- for anything that’s ever made me happy. I don’t want that to happen to us. I won’t let it.” 

Yuuri pressed their foreheads together, face red and eyes misty. 

He wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but it was sweet. Like cherry crushed ice slushies on a hot summer day. Months and months in the making. 

The man took a firm grip of his waist, both hands planted on each side as if they were made to hold them. Yuuri cupped his face, letting his fingertips explore his face and hair and shoulders as if they would vanish before his very eyes. They were sloppy kisses from someone too tired and someone too inexperienced, but they were loving and passionate-- their kisses were red in a sea of blue. 

They stumbled back near the bed, his hands working their way up Yuuri’s body. 

Clothes began to shed with work from clumsy fingers, unclasping and unbuttoning from top to bottom. Yuuri laid on his back and basked in his beauty under the whimsical light from outside. The electric blue of his eyes. The moonlight silver shine of his hair. The bitten red color of his lips. It was a painting in motion. 

He gasped and moaned beneath the tender touch. 

He was the cause of beauty and the result. He ceased to think, ceased to worry. Yuuri’s existence became consequential at the hands of his lover— the only person who knew him. Truly knew him. 

He coaxed his gaze, adoration with whispered declarations amid moans that yearned to be let out. 

They watched the sun come up from between the sheets of his bed. Yuuri found it hard to put space between them, making sure he was real and not going anywhere. 

Yuuri found himself humming amid the quiet morning. 

He laid his head on the man's bare chest and stared out into the window overlooking the sea as snow fell from the sky. Not much seemed to matter anymore. Not rent. Not work. Not as long as they had each other. 

“Someone’s been following me.” The words slipped out without warning, taking them both by surprise. 

The man tensed underneath him, holding his breath for some time until he asked, “How long?” 

“It’s been about a month since I noticed, but I’ve had a feeling for some time now.” 

“Have they gotten close?” 

“The night you came back, he watched my show… stayed the entire time. It was the first time he ever got that close. Before that, he just trailed me.” 

“You’re scared?” he asked as he pulled him closer. 

“Naturally,” Yuuri admitted. “But it’s like I told you, I’ve dealt with things like this before. I’m more worried about my friends.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is all my fault.” Yuuri hummed, hugging him tighter. 

“You’re not going to tell me who they are either, are you?” Yuuri asked. The man shook his head. It was better that way. He sunk deeper into him and closed his eyes. 

“I don’t know if this is the best time to tell you this… And I know you’ve already said it, but,“ Yuuri whispered. “I’m in love with you.” Silence followed. 

The man kissed the top of his head. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.” 

The man looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table, picking it up only to look at the date. He sighed. Yuuri looked up and asked, “What’s wrong? Don’t like Christmas?” 

He smiled down at him. “No, I just… realized it’s my birthday.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri said sitting up. He tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned down to kiss him. “Well… happy birthday.”   
______

They drove back into the city that afternoon, after a day of planning and talking about where they would go from there. 

The man would go back to work, doing god knows what, god knows where. Yuuri would return to the stage and pretend nothing happened between them. The gifts would stop to protect him, for the time being. He would go back to Phichit crying about how badly he had been treated by him. How all he wanted was sex and nothing more. The man suggested getting a boyfriend, for the time being, to show the men watching him that he had moved on. Yuuri refused. 

“Look, we have to be convincing,” he said as he bit into a croissant over breakfast. “Or, I could buy you an apartment somewhere more populated. Make it harder for them to find you.” 

“I don’t want to leave Phichit behind. Explaining all this to him would just complicate things too. I think it’s better if I stay.” 

“Then get a boyfriend.” 

“You’re acting as if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“I wouldn’t. It’s for your own good until I can figure something else out.” 

Yuuri sighed, sinking into his seat. 

They were driving into the city, with more and more buildings coming into view like grey vultures looming over them. The man tapped his finger against the steering wheel humming along to a song on the radio. He took a cigarette from the clip in the breast pocket of his jacket. Lucky Strike, like always. Yuuri watched as he lit the cigarette and took a drag. He watched the smoke swirl around the car, creating figures with every puff and movement. 

He took the cigarette from the man's lips and took a drag himself, then smiled. “That’s what I’ll call you-- Lucky.” 

The man smiled next to him, looking bashful for the first time since they had met. 

“So, what _are_ you going to do, Lucky?” Yuuri asked him. The man took his eyes from the road and onto Yuuri’s, crinkling at the sides as he smiled. 

“I’m going to clear up some very awful misunderstandings and quit, once and for all. When that happens, I’ll come back and we can move on with our lives.” 

“You’d quit for me?” Yuuri asked him, voice quiet. 

“I’ve been meaning to quit for a long time,” he admitted to him. “Never really found a reason to— but now I have you.” They smiled. “I’ll make it right. I’ll quit this, and I’ll come back for you. And we’ll live in peace-- If you’ll have me.”

The sun sunk behind him, casting a halo around his hair. Yuuri tilted his head to the side, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. 

“Of course.” Yuuri smiled. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh~ be my once in a lifetime


	6. change

It was cold in St. Petersburg, colder than it had been in Moscow and colder than he had ever felt in New York. The streets were glossed over with ice, slippery and treacherous to inexperienced pedestrians. The sun set not long after noon and the river had frozen over. While the restaurants and cultural epicenter of the city were still warm, and fun, and lively, it was the ocean, with her slurred waves and brittle spittle that called his name. 

After he left the States, Victor headed to Italy, much warmer in comparison but just as dull. Yakov had tasked him with an heiress-- the granddaughter of some distant cousin of Mussolini who had amassed a grand fortune during and after the war. She and her family lived in a villa that spread over 30 acres in the Tuscan countryside: _ Casa di Speranza_. Rustic, white, and sprawling with life, it was heavily guarded, hiding fortune after fortune behind its walls. Paintings, sculptures, jewels, documents, and access to classified information. 

It had been easy to get access inside. Just one night at a benefit gala, dancing across the room with her in his arms, whispering word after word after word of love and passion and pain. Kissing her ample cheeks and holding her as delicately as she deserved. To her, he was a French aristocrat on holiday for the winter. Henri Benoît. 

Suave, reserved, and more charming than anyone she would ever meet. 

She got drunk on wine and champagne and he rode home with her in the town car her family had sent her in. The driver didn’t protest, she was sober enough to demand he let Victor stay. Yakov had arranged for this all to take place when she would be alone in the estate, the rest of her family away further south. It had been easy, leaving with the most expensive pieces and a loaf of pane toscano from the kitchen. No one had seen him, no one would know him. He made sure to leave the seal where her grandmother would see it, seared into her nightstand, a swirling loop in the shape of a sword. The seals were always different and Yakov refused to tell him what they meant. He’d left that very night, boarding a train from Tuscany to Paris and take a plane back to Moscow. He’d delivered everything to their man in the city, and had barely any time to shower before Yakov called him back to St. Petersburg. He followed orders and made his way back ‘home’. 

He had been in the city for days and there was still no word from his superior. No call to meet him. No note, no message. Nothing. 

Victor walked the shores at night and early in the morning as a way to pass the time. In between assignments, it was hard for him to find things to do. Yakov had called him back to the city, away from New York, away from work, and away from Yuuri, almost as if he knew exactly what he was planning to do. He was keeping him stagnant, in a sort of purgatory. Yakov knew that as long as Victor couldn’t reach him, he was stuck. 

He thought of Yuuri-- how he’d watched him walk up to the entrance of his building and watched him disappear into the darkness inside. He thought of his eyes and the pink of his lips and the way he’d called him _Lucky_ like he knew everything would be alright. 

He should have given him a gun. Or insisted on him moving somewhere else-- told him he’d relocate his entire friend circle if it meant he’d be safe. New York was a city sprawling with enemies. He’d crossed enough people for any of them to be after him. 

A ball of snow hit his arm, shattering into infinite pieces all over his coat. “I heard you were back, old man.” 

Yuri. 

“I was called back,” Victor said dusting off the snow. “Can’t exactly say no to Yakov, can I?” 

“Nothing ever stopped you before.” 

Victor smiled. “Your English is getting better.” 

“Don’t change the subject.” Yuri walked forward, standing next to him, still smaller than him but taller than the last time Victor had seen him. “Why are you here?” 

“I already told you, Yura.” 

“Bullshit. You are here to quit, no?” Victor didn’t say anything, letting his silence speak for itself. “Coward. All for some worthless singer.” 

Victor laughed, taking hold of the back of Yuri’s neck with cold fingers. In whisper colder than the wind blowing through the beach, he whispered, “Watch your mouth.” 

Yuri tried to yank himself away, struggling to do so against Victor’s grip. He let him go, Yuri skirting forward slightly. 

“Yakov gave you everything--” 

“I have paid for everything he’s ever given me. Nothing has ever been out of the goodness of his heart.” Victor pulled a cigarette from his pocket to his lips, lighting it without taking his eyes from the ocean. “You know that as well as I do. That man has made us work for everything we have.” Yuri was silent. 

Then, “You’re going to break Lilia’s heart.”

“She understands. I think you do too, deep down. Yakov as well, in his own way.” 

Yuri turned to walk back the way he came from. “The Letniy Sad by the river. Tomorrow at 5 pm. He says to be prompt.” 

And with that, he was gone.


	7. pretty when you cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If I ever find out that you’re protecting him,” he said as he leaned down. He smelled of cigarettes and cologne. It drowned Yuuri’s senses. “I’ll ruin you and everything you love.” _

Life went on. 

Yuuri performed, did it well, and pretended not to notice the strangers in the shadows all around him. They didn’t matter too much anyway. After some time, Yuuri noticed them less and less, until they were gone altogether. Somehow that was worse. They had been the last thing tying him to Lucky. 

Winter ended, Spring passed, and Summer simmered in through hazy nightmares of worst-case scenarios, with the heat barely registering. Ever so often, fear and pain would come rolling through him like lightning and thunder in the sky. It was all he knew sometimes. Yuuri had lost track of most everything else. 

He passed through the days, detached and trying desperately to keep the images of Lucky he had alive in his mind. Things slowly went back to the way they were before him. 

Until midsummer. 

It was during the fourth of July show on the rooftop of the hotel that the old man strolled in, all swagger, clean-cut and confident. Even among the city elite, he had a power that challenged them all. 

Yuuri almost hadn’t noticed him, but the man demanded his attention and made himself hard to miss. He placed himself directly in front of the stage, deep red wine swirling away in its glass on top of the white table cloth. Five large men surrounded him, standing behind him as if waiting for his command. The minute he locked eyes with the stage, they never left. Not once. 

The wait staff didn’t know how to work around him. Yuuri could see he made them nervous, and that he knew he did. That fact revealed itself in the mischievous grin he’d give them when they approached to fill his drink. He liked watching them fumble over their words. 

Yuuri knew who they were, even if he knew nothing of them. That same anxious feeling overtook him again, slow and writhing in his stomach. 

The fireworks would begin at midnight, and Yuuri would be relieved of his duties at 11:50 pm. He was lively during his last minutes, eager to get backstage. As the moment drew near, he found himself trembling under the cool summer breeze. 

He cut his ending speech short and practically ran off stage and into the back, hands grabbing at his dress so as not to stumble. Each step, each breath, each dash of the eyes filled with worry led him farther and farther from the men out front. He just had to keep going. 

Mila found him in the stairwell not long after he’d run off, with his head between his hands. 

“Yuuri? Honey, are you alright?” She took a seat next to him and wrapped an arm around him. He straightened himself out and nodded, smiling to reassure her he was, his lips bitten raw. 

“I’m good, just a little tired is all.” 

“Listen, you have a dinner scheduled for tonight. I know it’s late notice, but if you need me to cancel--” 

“No, it’s fine.” He dabbed his face with the pads of his fingers. “I’ll do it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Thank you for letting me know. Is it in the usual room?” 

“Well… no. It’s in a hotel suite. But we’ll have the same guards in place. They’ll be right outside. You won’t be alone.” 

Yuuri nodded again and stood up. He smoothed out the fabric over his thighs and walked down. The fireworks could be heard through the thin walls of the stairwell. Midnight. New Year.  
“Do you know who it is?” The words fell into the quiet. 

“It’s a party of four,” Mila said. Yuuri pictured the men he who had come to watch him. “Jean-Jacques Leroy is one of them. Isn’t that something?”

Jean-Jacques. It had been years since he’d heard that name. 

He’d been a frequent customer of his when he first started. Yuuri didn’t know much about him, other than he was some wealthy broker and came from old money. He was a bit much, but they always had fun when they were together, unless they didn’t. It wasn’t unusual to see him every other day. But on normal days, he’d have a drink or three, tell a couple of jokes, and then say goodnight. Jean-Jacques had even invited him on trips abroad and to parties around the city, but Yuuri knew they came from different worlds. His friends would never accept him as one of their own, not even for a night.

And then he got engaged, married a beautiful girl from his own circle, and had a beautiful baby boy. He hadn’t been back since. 

To hear his name piqued his interest. 

“Jean-Jacques.” Yuuri took a deep breath. “Well, um… alright. What suite is he in?” 

“The Presidential. They should be waiting now, but you’ve got some time to freshen up.” She dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief from her pocket. “Not that you need it.” Mila smiled at him, kind of crooked. 

People on the outside, even people like her who dealt with his dinners nightly, never really knew what to make of them. They never knew what to say, not really. 

They went their separate ways; Yuuri took the elevator one floor down and Mila went back to the party. 

The inside of the hotel was much cooler. When the doors opened into the suite, Yuuri walked in with his head held high. He wasn’t sure why, but he was excited to see him. Jean-Jacques had a big personality-- it would be like a breath of fresh air to be in his presence again. Like something new. 

There wasn’t much noise coming from inside. Yuuri could see the usual guards there waiting for him. They looked uneasy. Something in their faces screamed at him to turn back. He stepped back, heels clicking on the marble floor. The bitter atmosphere settled into his bones. 

“Yuuri,” Jean-Jacques called from behind them. He stood beneath the entrance into the living room. Dressed in a dark grey suit, with slightly more wrinkles lining his eyes, he looked just as he did the last time Yuuri saw him. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” They both moved and met in the middle. Wrapping an arm around him, Jean-Jacques leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Come on, we’re in the parlor.” 

As they moved closer, the air grew thick with smoke. Inside the parlor, three other men were posted inside. One sitting and two standing behind him. Immediately, Yuuri recognized the man sitting as the older man at his show. 

He should have seen it coming. He should have known something was up. 

“Yuuri, meet my father,” Jean-Jacques said, hold tightening around his waist. “Father, this is--” 

“Yuuri Katsuki,” the man bellowed. “Or, Baby, rather. It was a wonderful show you put on this evening. An absolute treat. Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart? Let’s have a chat.” 

Jean-Jacques led him to a leather club chair positioned in front of the older man. Yuuri took a seat, shoulders back and back straight. His heart felt faint and the room was spinning, but he’d be damned if he let them know they were scaring him. 

“A chat would be lovely,” he responded. He cleared his throat. “I apologize if my voice is a bit raspy.” 

The older man looked him once over before smirking. He laughed. “I bet you get a lot of requests like these. Pretty boy like you. Even had my son here wrapped around your finger for months.” 

“Father--” Jean-Jacques took a step forward from behind Yuuri, hand resting on the back of his chair. All it took was one icy stare from his father to send him back. Yuuri smiled back at Jean-Jacques, trying to reassure him he didn’t need a savior. 

“Your son was a wonderful friend to me all that time. A million times more caring than most of the men I meet in my line of work. You did a great job raising him.” The old man snorted. 

“He’s careless. Always has been.” 

Yuuri fought back the disgust surfacing on his face. “I’d hardly say he’s careless.” 

“And what makes you say that?” 

“Knowing him, even if not very well-- he’s not someone I would call careless.” 

“Tell me, Yuuri. What is it you know about my son?” 

“I know he’s kind,” Yuuri said, smiling back at him again. Jean-Jacques looked down at him like he was watching a deer in the wild before it was hunted. “I know he has an affinity for strawberry preserves from Ohio. I know he likes his scotch neat and that his favorite dessert is angel cake.” He turned back to his father. “And now I know his father.” 

That wasn’t all he knew about Jean-Jacques. He knew where their money was stored abroad. Who their top investors were, how much they gave, and where to find them on any given Saturday. All things Jean-Jacques had let slip after one too many drinks. But he’d never tell them that. For both their sakes. 

The room became cold when the old man rose from his seat and walked towards Yuuri. “That’s fine and good, Yuuri. Now, tell me what you told Angus Screetly.”

Yuuri knit his brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he did. Even with the alias, Yuuri knew.

He smiled again, lips numb by that point, and looked away. The old man grabbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. 

“I think we both know who we’re talking about. Tall, handsome as sin, and with hair like freshly minted quarters. You spent your holidays with him, for christ's sake.” 

Yuuri shook his head. “That son of a bitch never told me his name. God--” He threw his hands up in frustration before covering his face. “He fucked me, embarrassed me, and left me-- just like that. I thought he loved me-- thought he was different, but… He was just like the rest of them. That no-good son of a bitch.” It was easy to force the tears out. It always had been. 

The room fell silent. Suspicious. 

“Why did you let him drive you back home then? If he did all of those things?” the man asked. Yuuri wiped his tears away. 

“Because-- I thought he’d apologize if I just gave him time. But he just… left. Without another word. I should have seen it coming. He took me all the way out there to keep us away from the public eye-- couldn’t have anyone important seeing him with some poor lounge singer.” 

He took him by the shoulders. “Did you tell him anything at all-- about my son or--” 

“I never said any names-- just traded stories.” He laughed half-heartedly and looked at Jean-Jacques. “I told him about the Christmas party-- how you threw up on the dance floor.” He sniffled. “But that was it.”

“He didn’t press you for any information?” 

“Of course, but I know where to draw the line with privacy. He never got more than that out of me.” Yuuri didn’t know why he was lying. He had never once asked about any of his clients. Not a single time in the months they knew each other. 

“Father, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Yuuri’s told me in the past about how the Daily Tribune hounds him-- he’s never spoken out of turn.”

“Shut your mouth, boy! I will not rest until I have that scum buried six feet under! The money he’s cost us--The shame--” His father fell back to silence. 

The hair on the back of Yuuri’s neck stood on end. He looked to the floor, too scared they’d see the fear in his eyes. He couldn’t even begin to think about what Lucky had done. Whatever it was, it was serious and they wanted him to pay. 

The old man moved towards him again, wrapping his hand around his neck. Yuuri stared him down, holding his breath for as long as he could. He wouldn’t let them see him struggle. He wouldn’t break. 

He could feel tears pooling in his eyes.

“If I ever find out that you’re protecting him,” he said as he leaned down. He smelled of cigarettes and cologne. It drowned Yuuri’s senses. “I’ll ruin you and everything you love.” 

He kissed his cheek and pat it, then picked up his jacket from where it laid on the sofa. They all left, one by one, except for Jean-Jacques. 

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. As long as you’re telling the truth, you’ll be fine. My father, he’s-- a hard man, but he doesn’t hurt the innocent.” He kneeled before him and held his hands. He’d aged, they both had, but his eyes were still kind. Jean-Jacques took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed the tears streaming down Yuuri’s face. It wasn’t until he saw his own hands that he realized he was shaking. “I’m so sorry we put you through this.” 

“Jean-Jacques…” Yuuri spoke softly. He put his hands on his face and blinked away the last of his tears. Voice hoarse and low, he asked, “What did he do?” 

Jean-Jacques inhaled, deep and sharp. 

“He betrayed us.”


	8. 24

One morning in late October, Yuuri and Phichit were woken up by sharp rapping at their door. The sun was only beginning to rise over the buildings, moving as slowly as the world felt and casting aside the dark shadows of the night. 

With tired eyes and dragging feet, they both left the comfort of their beds and marched to the front door. Yuuri peeked through the peephole and sighed at the sight on the other side. Two men stared back, detectives. Yuuri rolled his eyes and turned to Phichit, “It’s just the police. Go back to bed.” Phichit nodded and walked lazily back to where he had come from, grumbling something under his breath Yuuri was sure were a few choice words he wanted to tell the two men outside. 

A visit from the police wasn’t anything new in their neighborhood. It wasn’t terribly dangerous, but there were plenty of break-ins and robberies every couple of days. Most of the time they just wanted to ask if they heard or saw anything. No big deal. A visit from them was more of a nuisance than anything else. 

Yuuri opened the door. 

“Good morning, young man. Is…” The taller of the two detectives looked down at his notebook and made a face. “Yuuri in?” 

Yuuri yawned and nodded, “That would be me. How can I help you?” 

“Y-you’re Yuuri? _Baby_?” he asked, turning his head to the side. “The singer?” 

Yuuri knit his brows, slightly more awake. They’d never asked about that before. Not any of the other times. “Um, yes. Why? Is there a problem?” 

The detective cleared his throat. “We’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Could we come in?” 

He led them inside and sat with them at their dining table, offered them coffee and crossed his legs when they declined. 

“I’m Detective Rodgers. This is Detective Hudley.” They looked at each other then at Yuuri, a look of disappointment glossing over their eyes. A stubbly, crusty-eyed 24-year-old man in worn pajamas wasn’t what they were expecting when they were told they’d be interrogating a cabaret singer. 

Yuuri sighed again. It happened more often than he’d like to admit. Once the veil of “Baby” was gone, he felt like any other ordinary person in the city. “We’d like to ask you some questions about a frequent client of yours.” 

Yuuri gave them an innocent smile and leaned back. “I have so many. You’ll have to specify which one.”

“Well, that’s what we’d like to ask you,” said Ridgers. He looked at Hudley again. God, that was pissing Yuuri off. “We were hoping you’d be able to provide us with a name.” He slid a blurry black and white photograph across the table. There were three figures in the picture, but only _one_ was recognizable. 

“_Rat bastard_,” Yuuri fumed. It was getting to be fun-- pretending to hate him. There was a flare to it now. “Is he back? In the city-- Is that why you’re here?” They looked at each other again, faces unsure of what they should say. He wanted to laugh. 

“Sir, we’d appreciate it if you told us his name,” said Hudley. 

“He didn’t give me a name.” Yuuri laid his hands on the table. 

“Yet you spent so much time with him?” 

“Don’t make me feel more stupid than I already do. I know it was foolish, but look at him…” Yuuri motioned to the picture. “I don’t know, I got caught up in everything. Didn’t have time to think.” 

“Did you have nicknames for--” 

“No. He called me Star Shine once, but I didn’t have any for him.” 

The detective turned his head to the side again and squinted. “How did he contact you?” 

“He called the hotel.” 

“And when he wanted to reach you at home?”

“Never did.”

They inhaled, nostrils flaring. “And what about the gifts? Your employer said he--” 

“He did. Flowers and clothes, here and there. They were delivered to the hotel, as you probably know, but there were some that came here directly. I could get them if you’d like, but there aren’t any return addresses.” He began to stand, but the detective told him to sit. 

“We don’t need to see them, it’s alright.” 

They sat in silence as the two of them took notes. Yuuri crossed his legs and let his mind wander. How in the world had he ended up here? How was he ever supposed to go back? 

They asked him a couple more questions. Basic ones, easy enough for him to answer truthfully. He didn’t know anything about him, he hadn’t seen him in months, he left him, blah, blah, blah. 

Lucky had been right-- the less he knew the better. As talented as Yuuri was, his acting could only do so much. There needed to be some ignorance and unknowing in his answers to be convincing. 

Still, he hated it. Not knowing who he was, or what he’d done, or why the mafia and police were after him. Yuuri trusted him… he did. But he wanted to know. He needed to be prepared for anything that was to come. Whatever that would be. 

“Can I ask you something?” Yuuri looked back at them, eyes big. He had the eyes of a doe-- gentle, innocent, free. That’s what his mother always said. He used to hate them, but now… now Yuuri used them to his advantage. “Why are you looking for him?” Maybe they would be the ones to give him a real answer. 

They shared a look between themselves again. Yuuri held himself back from rolling his eyes. They loved to feel important. Typical. 

Rodgers exhaled. “Well, to start: fraud. He’s also been connected to tax evasion, identity theft, grand theft… the list goes on and on. We’re finding new things as we investigate.” Yuuri’s eyes widened and their pity grew. Rodgers took a card from inside his jacket and slipped it into Yuuri’s hand. Then he brushed his fingers along his own, lingering a little too long. It made Yuuri’s stomach turn. “If you can think of anything-- anything at all-- give me a call.” 

Finally, Detective Rodgers stood from his chair and collected his things. Hudley followed. They looked down at him with sadness in their eyes-- something like sympathy. 

All he could do was nod and show them out. 

After they left, he couldn’t go back to sleep. There was too much on his mind. So he waited by the window in their living room, hoping and praying for his car to drive by, for a flash of silver hair, a sprinkling of blue. He waited that way for weeks and weeks. 

He was beginning to lose hope, but the fire in his heart refused to be extinguished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a short chapter but we're getting closer to the end :))))))) ahhh
> 
> ALSO thank you all so much for your comments, I have not had the time to respond because of college but i see them and they make me so happy love u all


	9. flipside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The lump in his throat turned into a ball of fire, trapped there until swallowed and burning him all the way down. _

_Winter_

Snow coated the streets and chilled the bones of any person brave enough to trek through them. People find comfort in the warmth and distraction of the Red Room, huddling tightly together inside to enjoy their time away from home and slightly crazed by a menial form of cabin fever. Fur coat after fur coat, they raided the hotel, calling for dirty martinis and spiked hot chocolate as they came, taking their seats from evening to midnight and some even after. 

It was Saturday, December 13th and Yuuri could hear them rushing the room from behind the curtain. His hands were steady, but there was a deep languor that rested in his eyes he just couldn’t seem to shake. He asked for the lights to be turned down, hoping the audience wouldn’t notice. 

He was dressed in gold from head to toe with a fur boa around his shoulders. His lips were bright red and eyelashes lathered with mascara. On the highest peaks of his face, gold highlighter was dusted. 

The rolling snow and howling winds swept what little was left of him away. “Lucky” (a nickname he’d grown to resent) and their few escapades around the state were mere whispers in the back of his mind. 

Phichit grabbed his hand and intertwined them, laying his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with his hair combed neatly to the side. “You look lost.” 

Yuuri said nothing. He couldn’t find anything of substance to say-- there was no good response. He shrugged. 

He felt an emptiness-- desolate and shriveled and breaking open like a desert floor. What could have been and what was kept him up at night, a specter. It haunted him in his dreams and in consciousness for weeks. Yuuri had been so steeped in daydreams and fantasies for so long. The only way to keep going was to face himself. For the first time in years, he had to be realistic.

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked, voice growing worried. He detached himself from his side and looked deep into his face. He reached out, brushing the space just beneath the inner corner of his eye. “You’re crying. Why are you crying?” 

There was a chance he wouldn’t come back. Things felt grave enough to pierce the images of blood and bullets into his mind. He began to understand that if things did not go as planned, he may never see him again. 

Phichit took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the tears gently from his face, minding the makeup and careful not to smear it. Yuuri reached up to touch his own cheek and felt even more wetness begin to build in his eyes. He had been like this for days now. He was nothing more than a shell of himself, filled with nothing but tears. 

The snow was falling. Building and burning. He had a show to put on. 

He took in a series of labored, curt breaths and shook his arms out, trying to shake off the pain like rainwater. He crouched down and wrapped his arms around his knees, eyes shut tight and breathing still for half a minute. When he rose, he looked fine-- normal even. A plastic smile on his face, he kissed Phichit on the cheek and walked up towards the platform. 

His facade would not last forever, but it would last long enough. 

_____

He loses sleep in cups of coffee and an old booth in the diner near his apartment. The clock on the wall _tic-tic-ticked_ away behind him, ceaseless and nervous, waiting for something every night. Anything. Midnight comes and goes, and three hours pass before he moves to leave. 

Sleep weighs heavy enough on the lids of his eyes to push him forward home. 

_____

“Maybe we should take a trip,” Phichit posited one night after their shifts had ended. “We could go off somewhere in the countryside. Get away from the city for a while.”

“Traveling costs money,” Yuuri told him as he watched the condensation rise from out of their mouths. 

“Which we have,” he replied. 

“Hm.” 

“Come on. It’ll be good for us.” Phichit nudged him. “It’ll be good for _you_.” 

“Phichit--” 

“You’ve been so sad lately, Yuuri. I’m worried. You don’t smile, you don’t sleep. You barely eat and--” 

“Phichit...” 

“I know this is about him, Yuuri. You might have fooled Guang Hong and Leo but I know you.” 

They stop in their tracks and look at one another, unsure of where to take the conversation. Yuuri wasn’t surprised Phichit knew, he just wasn’t prepared to have that conversation with him yet. 

“Yuuri, I don’t know what he told you, but he’s not coming back.” 

The lump in his throat turned into a ball of fire, trapped there until swallowed and burning him all the way down. 

“He’ll come back.” His words were barely a whisper. “He promised.”  
______

The sixth time the man came to see him, they had drunk too much. Too much champagne, too much bourbon. Tequila had gotten involved at some point. Yuuri had held onto him, no longer wearing his heels (discarded somewhere he couldn’t remember), as they swayed back and forth towards the club. 

It was the closest they had ever been and Yuuri was trying desperately to forget the fact. He felt like water beneath his fingertips. It was almost too much, he almost wanted to pull away-- to take a breath-- but he _liked_ it. That pit-in-his-stomach ache dulled his senses. He couldn’t think. All he knew was _him_. 

Before he knew it, they were dancing. Not slowing dancing per se, but dancing nonetheless. Limbs moved from side to side, frantic and happy and oh so heavy. They didn’t care for rhythm or how silly they must have looked, there was no one there but them. There was also no music, but each of them took turns humming, filling the empty spaces of silence left in the room. 

They giggled in their drunken stupor, one of them complaining about the other tickling his side. The accusation turned to revenge until they were both bursting with laughter. Yuuri must have been the one to fall first, as he was the one to fall beneath the man, breathless and a little shocked at what little pain he felt. The laughter stopped when he realized why he hadn't felt any pain. The man had placed his hand behind his head and wrapped his arm around his waist. The man lifted his head to get a look at him, assessing the damages. 

“I’m sorry, I’m usually not this clumsy. Are you alright?”

Yuuri wasn’t hurt. Not even bruised. It would have been good to tell him, given how worried he looked, but there wasn’t much going on in his head. Just one thing. 

He had never seen anything as blue as his eyes. Not the sky, not the ocean, not even the cerulean diamond drop earrings he loved so much. Looking into him (and it really was him) was like seeing new colors, even in a dark room. 

“Yuuri?” 

“Hm? Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiled. 

“Everything is perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its been months since i updated BUT im back :') hopefully updates will be more frequent now 
> 
> always appreciate feedback :)!


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